Chapter 5

Tony blinked. His rib ached, his shoulders hurt and he had a terrible pain in his wrists. He must have been knocked out. He was still handcuffed to the stairwell, so he couldn't have been out long. Long enough for them to stop taping, though, because Lola had his pants halfway down his legs and Butch had taken off his mask and his gloves. Tony got his feet under him again and shook his head.

"You're back with us, I see," Peter said as Tony drew in a deep breath. No sharp pains, so with any luck, Butch hadn't broken any of his ribs. Yet.

"Lift your feet," Lola said, and Tony glared down at her. When he didn't immediately do as she asked, she gave him a dimpled smile. "It's not going to do you any good to resist, Tony, and you don't really want any more bruises, do you?"

He lifted his feet and she slipped the pants out from under him and took them away. He didn't see the camera, so he assumed she had it stowed away in one of her capacious pockets. Butch came forward and undid one of the cuffs, letting Tony's arms down. As soon as his left arm was free, Tony punched Butch in the jaw. The big man stumbled backwards, and Tony thought it had to be from surprise because the punch was pathetic. Clenching his fists, Butch started towards him, but Peter put a hand on his shoulder and the big man stopped.

"You can't blame him for getting a little of his own back, now can you?" he asked, giving Tony a pleasant smile. "Now, Tony, you need to let Butch cuff you again and go back into your room."

Remembering the magnum Peter had tucked in his shoulder holster, Tony obeyed. They left him in the radiator room, which had lost a lot of heat from the door being open so long. He brought his hands up and gingerly examined his face. His lip was swelling slightly, and he had a small split at the corner of his mouth. The door opened again, Tony stiffened, not sure what to expect now. Surely they'd done enough to him for the moment. He grimaced. Maybe the video camera lens cap was on and they had to do it all over from scratch.

Peter walked in holding a terrycloth bundle. Butch stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and Tony wondered what was coming now. "Relax, Tony, I just brought you an ice pack. We don't want that lip swelling up too big."

Tony blinked at him. "I don't get it," he said.

"Whatever do you mean?" Peter asked, holding out the icepack.

"We both know you're going to kill me in the end," Tony said, not taking it. "Why bother with the ice?"

Peter shrugged, and by not leaping to protest his intention of killing Tony, he as good as confirmed it. "The end may be further off than you think, Tony," Peter said, and Tony wondered what that meant. Peter held out the icepack. "Take the ice, Tony. There's no point in refusing, is there?"

"I guess not," Tony said with a shrug, and he took the icepack. He needed to get back into the swing of charming this guy. People didn't kill those they liked as readily as those they didn't. "Thanks," he added, pressing the ice to his face. He floundered for something else to say. The naked thing was definitely throwing him off. He kept wondering if they were looking places they shouldn't, and he desperately wanted to cover himself. For one thing, the open door was letting the cold air in. Late October was not a time to be naked in a basement.

Okay, without a girl, a sufficient quantity of wine, a few blankets and some pleasant tunes, no time was good to be naked in a basement.

And what did you say to a man when you knew he was planning to kill you? Besides "don't."

"It's no problem, Tony," Peter said. "We want to keep you looking your best, after all. We'll save really bloody face shots for later efforts at persuasion, assuming they're needed."

"I'm all for skipping that altogether," Tony said.

Peter laughed. "Well, what cannot be cured must be endured," he said, and Tony shook his head.

"I'd rather not, thanks."

Peter laughed again and then he left Tony alone in the little room. Tony sat down on the mattress and contemplated what he was going to do. First he needed to get them to let him out of these cuffs. He lay back and let the icepack rest on his face so he could rest his arms. There were deep indentations in his skin where he had hung, however briefly, from the handcuffs. He had a feeling that his ribs would be a solid mass of bruising before long, at least on the front. What would Gibbs do if their situations were reversed?

That was easy. He'd start off by not getting caught, though Tony wasn't sure how he could have avoided that ambush. He'd been walking back to his car from Ziz when he heard a woman scream down an alley. He took off running that way, pulling his gun. There had been two women and a man, and the man appeared to be molesting one of the woman. From what he knew now, Tony thought the man might have been Butch, and the woman standing nearby and shrieking her head off was Lola. Tony had stopped level with the shrieking woman and ordered the thug to freeze.

Instead, the man had thrown the woman he was attacking to the ground and turned towards Tony. The threat from him blinded Tony to any possibility of a threat from the woman he still regarded as a victim, and Lola had caught him completely off guard with her little pink stun gun. Things had gotten rather confused after that, and he suspected they had drugged him somehow, but he was a little blurry on that point.

Regardless, assuming that Gibbs had been caught the way Tony had been, what would he do? Tony tossed the icepack aside and began to examine the cellar room. It was not enlightening. There were four concrete walls and a heavy metal door. Locked. He had the mattress, the icepack, a pair of handcuffs and nothing else. And the handcuffs were in the most useful location. He could use them to strangle someone if they got close enough, and they would add heft to a double handed blow to someone's head, assuming he got an opportunity to land such a blow without getting himself shot.

He sat down again. Even in the sewers he'd had a better chance of escape. There he'd at least had his clothing, and therefore his belt buckle, and he'd had access to the outside of his cell door. Here . . . he was going to have to count on his captors giving him an opportunity, and that didn't seem very likely.

What was it that Peter wanted from him? He didn't know anything interesting, wasn't privy to any important secrets. Nevertheless, the more Peter spoke, the more Tony thought there was more to this than a desire for a quick buck. They had let him see their faces because they weren't going to let him go, but that didn't mean they were going to kill him, at least not any time soon.

He shook his head. It didn't make sense . . . unless they thought he knew something that he didn't. In which case, he could be in for a lot of pain and grief. Heaving a big sigh, he flopped down on the mattress.

Gibbs would find him. He just hoped that all his blood was still on the inside when that happened.

McGee knocked on the door to apartment 2B. After a few moments, a man answered the door. He was tall with dark hair, and he gazed suspiciously at McGee. "We don't got anything to say to any cops," he said, and he started to close the door.

A little tired of the attitude which he'd gotten at two of the four other apartments he'd visited, McGee stuck his foot in the door and pushed. "Good," he said. "Because I'm not a cop. I'm a federal agent."

"FBI?" the man asked mockingly, but he backed up and let McGee in.

"NCIS," McGee said, flashing his badge and his ID the way he'd learned from Gibbs. "Special Agent McGee, and I'm looking for Marla Thomas."

"She's asleep," the man said. "I'm her husband. What do you want?"

"I have some questions about a patron at the club she works at, Ziz, and it's urgent. Can you please wake her up for me?"

The man shook his head. "I don't think so," he said, turning away.

McGee caught his arm and gave him an insincere smile. "Wake her up. I was being polite, now I'm not." The guy glared at him. "If you make me go and get a warrant, we will come back here and tear this place apart looking for any evidence that you and your wife might be involved in the disappearance of a federal agent."

"Fine, whatever." He walked into the next room, and McGee listened carefully in case his improvised threat turned out to have a basis in fact. However, all he heard was a sleepy female voice and an irritable male one, and a few minutes later, a woman in her mid-thirties emerged from the bedroom wearing pajamas and a robe over the top of them.

"Can I see your ID?" she asked.

"Special Agent McGee, ma'am," he said, showing her his ID. "I just have a couple of questions."

"If I can help you, I will."

McGee pulled out the picture of Tony they'd pulled from the NCIS files. "Was this man at Ziz last night?"

Marla took the picture with a smile. "Oh yeah, he was there. He's a good tipper."

"You're sure he was there last night?" McGee asked.

"Sure, I'm sure," she said. "Is he in trouble for something?"

"Did he leave with anyone?" McGee asked.

She shook her head. "He mingled for a while, danced, had a few drinks, but he left alone."

"About what time?"

"Ten thirty, maybe quarter till eleven. Early for him. I figured he had to be in early to work."

"Did anyone seem unduly interested in him?"

"Not unduly, no," she said with a puzzled look. "Did something happen to him?"

"We're not sure yet. Thank you, you've been really helpful." He turned to go, but she called him back.

"Wait, I know you!" she said, and McGee turned back. "You're a friend of his . . . what did he call you?"

"Probie," McGee said.

"No, it was . . . McGeek."

"Oh yeah, that one," McGee said.

"What's probie mean?" she asked.

"I'm an NCIS agent," McGee replied and she nodded. "And he's the senior field agent on our team. He's called me that since I was a probationary field agent."

"Ahhh, I see."

He took his leave and called Gibbs. "Boss, I've got something. He left Ziz last night between 2230 and 2245."

"Good work, McGee. Keep at it."

"But we know –"

"Someone else may have seen something different, McGee. Keep going."

"Yes Boss," McGee said, but he heard Gibbs hang up before he finished speaking. He closed his own phone and drove on to the next address on his list.

This door was answered by a girl of about eight who took one look at him and yelled, "Mom! A cop's here."

McGee really didn't think he looked that much like a cop, but the little girl's mother came to the door and that was what mattered. "Are you Leann Roberts?" he asked.

"I am, and you are?"

"Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS, ma'am. I have a few questions about someone who was a the club last night."

"Come in, then," she said. "I'm washing dishes." He followed her into the kitchen, and to his surprise, she continued washing dishes. "Go ahead, ask your questions."

"Did you see this man in the club last night?" he asked, holding out the photo of Tony.

She smiled. "Yeah, he was there. What's he done?"

"Nothing, ma'am, I just need to follow his movements last night. Do you know when he left the club?"

"Not really, I got pretty busy around ten-thirty, and I didn't see him after that."

"Did anyone seem to be paying him undue attention?"

"I don't know what you mean by undue, but he did run into a friend. It was kind of weird, actually."

McGee's attention sharpened. "Weird? In what sense?"

She paused in the her dishwashing, turning around and grabbing the towel off her shoulder to keep her hands from dripping. "Well, Tony doesn't come all that often, maybe three or four times a month, but he's memorable. Fun to watch, fun to talk to, a good tipper, right?"

McGee rolled his eyes. "I work with him. I know."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? He's a cop?"

"A federal agent," McGee said.

"Interesting. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, he came in with a guy from his old fraternity. I heard them talking, and I remembered because three days later, that guy showed up again, just sat at a table half the night, drinking just enough to keep the table."

"Okay . . ."

"Well, that guy has come every night since then, doing the same thing. I figure he's got to be bribing the bouncer, because there's nothing special about him. Anyway, I was maybe three feet behind him with another customer when Tony came in. He sat up straight and got up, beckoning towards Tony. He made out like it was a chance meeting, but I swear, that was the first person the guy talked to in almost two weeks of hanging out. I think he was waiting for him."

"And this was last night?"

She nodded. "Tony in any trouble?"

McGee grimaced. "I can't really say. Did you catch the guy's name? How did he pay?"

"Cash every time I was his cashier," she said. "And Tony called him Tommy."

"How long did they spend talking?"

"Half hour or so, then the other guy had to leave."

"Did you notice about what time that was?"

"Just after my break, so it had to be around nine-thirty."

"And did you hear anything they talked about?"

"Not really. Just a bunch of stuff about the fraternity, but beyond that, I was too busy to pay any attention."

"I understand. Thank you, you've been a big help."

"Anytime. Can you find your own way out? I've got a lot to be doing."

"Sure." McGee left. None of his other interviews led anywhere new, so he headed back to NCIS headquarters where he found Gibbs and Fornell in the midst of a battle over who got to keep the evidence.

"NCIS doesn't have jurisdiction here, Gibbs," Fornell said.

"Like hell we don't," Gibbs replied.

"I have something," McGee said. Both men turned towards him, and he took a step back at the sight of the emotion in their eyes. "I don't know if it means anything, but it could."

"What is it, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Tony ran into an old friend from college last night, a frat brother, I guess."

"Name?"

"The waitress said she thought it was Tommy."

"Tommy?" Fornell said, suddenly looking arrested.

"What is it?" Gibbs demanded.

"The reason DiNozzo senior gave for his assumption that it was all a joke was that the guy who called sounded like one of Tony's friends, either Tom or Ted."

"It isn't the first time they've run into each other at Ziz," McGee said. Both senior agents gazed intently at him, and he passed on the information he'd learned from Leann Roberts.

"That is something," Gibbs said. He turned towards Tony's desk and barked, "DiNozzo!" McGee blinked. It was such an instinctive reaction that Gibbs probably hadn't thought twice, but he froze and so did everyone else within hearing, especially Sacks, who was sitting at Tony's desk. "McGee?" Gibbs said in a tightly controlled voice.

"Yeah, Boss?" McGee said with a sideways glance at Ziva who looked just as alarmed as he felt.

"Find out who that frat brother is, everything about him, including his current address."

"Right." McGee headed towards his desk, then paused. "We will find him, Boss."

"Yes, we will McGee. If you get to work!"

McGee nodded. "On it, Boss!" he said and hurriedly sat down.

"He was a football player, McGee," Fornell said. "That's what Tony's father said."

Nodding to show that he'd heard, McGee started calling up the vital statistics of Alpha Chi Delta, searching for lists of members at Ohio State in the early nineties. It didn't take long, and he found a couple of guys' MySpace pages that had photos and class lists. Tony hadn't changed much. He found one that showed a football team, but it didn't list the people in the picture. He wished he'd had it with him earlier in the day to show Leann Roberts. He kept looking and finally he found two Thomases that were members of Alpha Chi Delta at the same time, Thomas Goodson and Thomas Alkire. Cross referencing, he discovered that Thomas Alkire was on the football team with Tony, and he found a photo which he popped up on the plasma.

"Has Mr. DiNozzo ever met –" he started to say, but a loud voice interrupted him.

"Why that's . . . what's going on here?" someone shouted in a vaguely familiar voice. McGee turned to see a man staring at the screen. He looked a lot like Tony, and his eyes were wide with what looked like anger. "I thought you were looking into my son's disappearance, not investigating his old college friends! What kind of a rinky-dink operation is this?"

Gibbs walked up to Tony's father. "You recognize the young man?" he asked in a mild tone.

"Yes, he's the one I thought called me with the ransom demand, but I told that Fornell that it couldn't have been him because it's not a joke."

"No, it's not a joke," Gibbs said, and his voice was arctic. "And Tony apparently ran into this man last night. McGee, get me a more recent photo of Mr. Alkire and get to work figuring out where he is now."

"On it, Boss."

Without a backward glance, Gibbs went upstairs to the director's office. McGee kept up his computer searches. Alumni newsletters were a useful tool. Evidently, Thomas Alkire had moved out to California after college. McGee got his photo from the California DMV and sent it to the printer, and got to work tracing his current location. He had a Visa from Chase, a MasterCard from Bank of America and a Discover card. He started the process to gain access to them and turned to check if the photo had printed well.

"Which witness was it, McGee?" Fornell asked with the picture in his hand.

"Leann Roberts," McGee said.

"You stay on Alkire, Sacks and I will go check with her if this is our guy."

McGee nodded and the two FBI agents left. Ziva was still out canvassing the neighborhood around Ziz, so that left him alone with Mr. DiNozzo, who was staring at Alkire's picture with an inscrutable expression.

"Does he bark at you like that all the time?" DiNozzo asked.

"What?" McGee looked up, startled by the question.

"Does he bark at you all the time?" DiNozzo repeated.

"Gibbs?" McGee nodded, still working hard on the credit card access. "Yeah, that's how he is."

"So he barks like that at my son?"

"All the time," McGee said absently. Facts and figures were coming up on his screen.

"I'm not sure I like that."

"I'm sure I don't care," Gibbs said, and Mr. DiNozzo turned with a start. "McGee, you got anything?"

"Looks like he's staying at the Motel 6 on Georgia Avenue. There's a charge on his card for that, through tomorrow, it looks like. And he's paid for dinner a few places locally, and several drinks at Ziz."

"Let's go, McGee."

McGee grabbed his gun and his badge and followed Gibbs to the elevator.