Chapter 5

Of course, things did not exactly go according to plan.

Before dinner, a pickup truck arrived at the gates and Bob rolled the gate back and let it in. Tony saw him conversing with the driver, presumably letting the guy know where to park. While the driver backed the truck up, close to the storage shed, Bob saw Tony and waved him over. "I've got something to do. Can you help him unload? There are six RPGs in crates."

"Sure thing."

It took Tony about five seconds to realize he knew the delivery guy and that the shit was about to hit the fan. Bryce Kellogg, a two-bit thief – a petty officer at the time – had stolen a payroll from a bank just up the street from the Navy Yard. Must have been eight years ago. Tony could see the light bulb flickering in Kellogg's brain as soon as they came face-to-face, and then the guy's eyes widened when the penny dropped, and his mouth opened to shout in alarm. So Tony punched him in the forehead. Hard. Talk about going down like a sack of potatoes.

He should have made a run for it, immediately, but he didn't. Instead, Tony dragged Kellogg behind some bushes, did a hasty job of tying and gagging him with his own belt and scarf, then went back to the weapons shed. There, he grabbed an old rag from a toolbox, tore it into a long strip and wound it tightly around a grenade. Taking a deep breath and praying it was not going to be his last, Tony held the grenade to his chest, and pulled the pin out. He found a cardboard box filled with shredded packing paper and gingerly placed the active grenade in the center, like an egg nestled in a nest. The rag did its job and held the handle down when Tony carefully let go, and nothing exploded.

Tony patted his pockets and located the small fire starter he always carried, and lit the paper in the box on fire. Instead of the grenade detonating in the usual five seconds once the pin was out, it would take a few minutes for the fire to burn through the rag. And when it burned through, the arm would spring up, count to five, and kaboom!

Tony hastily chose a few weapons before leaving the shed, and locked it behind him. He headed for the vehicles, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Pinnell and Huston standing near a jeep, involved in a discussion with Bob. Tony backtracked, swearing because now he'd have to make a run for it on foot. Either that or try to shoot his way out. He was outnumbered and the ammunition in the shed could blow at any time, so going AWOL over the fence seemed like the best course of action. When clambering over the compound's ten-foot fence, which wasn't as easy as it sound, he thought, thank God he had been working out so much lately.

He was deep in the woods before he heard a shout. Quickening his pace, Tony realized he hadn't had the time or opportunity to let Zander know now would be a good time to leave, but once the shed blew, he'd be sure to get the hint.

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

They came after him, of course, but he hadn't heard any more shouting after the first alarm went up. The dog was useless at tracking, and besides, Tony had already ascertained the fierce-looking pit bull was more interested in food and getting scratched behind his ears than chasing deserters. It struck Tony that he probably wasn't the first man Huston and his accomplice had chased through these woods. Just look at how petty officers Hansen and Green had ended up, dead and dismembered, and scattered across several counties.

This was no time to be complacent though. Tony looked back, and through the trees he could see several men after him, led by Huston and Pinnell. They were all well-armed and mad as hell that the man they'd brought into their hideout turned out to be a cop – they must have figured out that much. Tony had been in on their plans and, if he escaped, no doubt he could get them all arrested.

He heard a couple of engines, a jeep and an SUV, from the sound of it, giving chase on the road, trying to cut him off. He just headed deeper into the woods to avoid them. Just as Tony reached the crest of a hill, and was wondering why the hell the explosive device he'd rigged up hadn't blown by now, an explosion resounded through the woods. There was one bang and then another. Crows flew from their perches overhead, squawking in fear. A moment later came a deep thundering boom that shook the ground. Tony stopped and leaned against a tree, looking back the way he'd come. A heavy plume of black smoke rose from the direction of the compound. He grinned at his success, and pressed on.

He kept up a steady pace despite the heavy underbrush and uneven ground, and soon his lungs aching from the exertion and the cold March air. There was a slope with a stream at the bottom, and he risked stopping to have a breather and to get a drink of water. The filter straw was coming in handy; he reminded himself to tell McGee he'd used it, when he got back. Daylight was fading. It was going to get cold tonight, but being on the move should keep him warm. Tony took out his cell phone but couldn't get a signal. At least he had a bunch of pictures of the Warheads' plans on it. Now all he had to do was make it to civilization and get the important intel into Gibbs' hands.

According to his compass, he was heading west, though the hilly terrain was rough in places and he had to zig and zag a lot. Tony had no idea where he was, other than somewhere in Virginia, but he figured that even if he didn't know where he was, his team would know, courtesy of the tracker embedded in his shoulder. After a quick inventory of his pockets – he had a power bar, a bag of dried fruit, and a compact mylar blanket – he dug out a warm knitted hat and gloves and pulled them on.

He'd arrived at the Warhead's compound carrying only one weapon, a knife Gibbs had given him at Christmas: a Zero Tolerance combat folding knife with black tiger stripes on its steel blade. Man, he'd never been so proud as when his boss had given it to him and whispered in his ear, "Good job, DiNozzo." Not that he wanted to get into hand-to-hand with any of the men who were after him. Which is why he'd grabbed a Mark 23 with a ten-round magazine and a holster that clipped to his belt, and two grenades before fleeing the weapons storage shed.

Every now and then he'd stop and listen for signs of pursuit. Once he thought he heard something but there was no sign of movement anywhere behind him. The darkness would be good cover, but it also made movement dangerous; the ground was frozen and slippery in places, and there were downed branches everywhere.

Tony had just made his way around a rocky outcrop and onto what looked like a rarely used trail through the woods when he was slammed to the ground. He twisted and got in a couple of body blows, and for the next couple of minutes – which felt like a lifetime – he put everything he'd ever learned from grappling with Gibbs in the NCIS gym to use. Except this was no exercise in self-defense with soft mats beneath him and the luxury of being able to call 'time' when he got winded.

This was the real thing; it was scary and violent, and when he desperately groped for the gun holstered at his waist, it was no longer there. There was a hand at his throat, a raised arm and the glint of a knife. Tony jabbed with an elbow, got the guy's nose, drew blood. His assailant screamed. He drew his knife from its sheath, and rammed the blade into the man's stomach. It felt unreal; the man looked surprised and then collapsed to one side. Tony struggled to his feet, breathing hard. The blood looked black in the dark, and all he could think was that it was way too easy to kill another human being.

It was only when Tony searched the dead man for weapons and tossed them to one side that he had a look at his face, and discovered he'd just killed Justice Pinnell.

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

It was so dark in the woods, Tony probably wouldn't have found his gun if he hadn't stepped on it. He re-holstered it and checked his compass before continuing west, leaving Pinnell's body where it was. When he came upon an overgrown trail, he took it, figuring that it was preferable to stumbling around in the woods and breaking an ankle. The moon was rising, casting a pale light on the trail, for which Tony was grateful.

He had been jogging along for only a short while when he heard someone coming up behind him. Turning, he pulled his gun, safety off. Although he couldn't make out who it was, Tony shouted, "Stop right where you are! I'm Special Agent DiNozzo, NCIS. Put down your weapon!"

Whoever it was ignored Tony's command and kept on coming. When he was within six feet, Tony could see the entire right side of the man's body had been burned, his face and hair seared. It was Huston, barely recognizable. He must have been caught in the blast of the weapons shed. How the hell had he made it all this way? He must be in terrible pain. For a moment, Tony felt concern, but Huston raised his arm and cried out, "Traitor!"

At the last moment, Tony threw himself to one side. A bullet hit a tree with a loud thunk, and immediately a sharp pain stabbed into the side of his head. He got off a return shot and saw Huston collapse on the trail. After approaching the prone figure with caution, and kicking his gun away, Tony frisked Huston for more weapons but found none. He was about to check his condition when there was a crashing in the underbrush, and Bossy appeared, panting heavily.

Bob was right behind the pit bull, a rifle in hand. He stopped, breathing hard, and stared at Huston lying still on the ground, and then rushed towards him, dropping the gun as if it no longer mattered. He moaned, "No, no, please God, no!" Down on his knees, Bob found the single entry wound and pressed down hard on Huston's chest.

"I'm a federal agent. Up on your feet," Tony ordered, getting a firm grip on Bob's arm. Bob protested, not wanting to leave his fallen friend, but Tony pushed him face-first against the nearest tree and checked him for weapons. Finding only a knife, Tony tossed it aside and let Bob go back to tending the wounded man. He'd seen enough of the dead and dying to know Huston wasn't going to make it. Bossy was licking Huston's face, whining, and Bob was crying, and Tony didn't know when he'd ever seen anything more pitiful.

"Why'd you do it?" Bob asked plaintively, holding Huston in his arms.

"He was going to shoot me," Tony replied.

Bob shook his head. "No. Why'd you join us if you were only going to do this?"

"Because you were going to murder people, and set off a huge fucking bomb. And because of Hansen and Green," Tony said angrily. "You helped him, didn't you? You killed them and cut them up."

"You don't understand. His mom and dad took me in when I didn't have anywhere to go. He takes care of me. He's my brother."

Huston made a wet, choking noise, and stilled, and Bob rocked him, weeping.

Before Tony could respond, he heard the sound of several people coming along the trail. He readied himself, gun raised, ready to shoot, and shouted, "Federal Agent! Identify yourself!"

A command of "Stand down!" and the sight of Gibbs' silver hair almost made him weak in the knees. Within seconds, Tony was surrounded by a squad of NCIS agents, including McGee and Ziva, and several men in heavy gear and night-vision goggles, with ATF emblazoned on their chests. He grinned at Gibbs, and asked, "You brought ATF as backup and you're still late to the party?"

"We would have been here a lot sooner if you hadn't been changing direction every five seconds, DiNozzo," Gibbs retorted. He let the other agents take care of Bob, pulling him away from Huston's body and handcuffing him, while he looked Tony over.

"I'm fine. There's another body back a ways, and a guy I tied up, back in the compound, and maybe nine other Warheads men out looking for me."

Gibbs snorted. "Already rounded up a few out on the road. They didn't put up much of a fight."

"Everyone all right?"

Gibbs nodded but he was frowning, and reached to touch Tony's face. Tony flinched but Gibbs warned, "You're hit."

"Oh, yeah, just some bark." He touched the side of his head and found he was bleeding behind his ear. Okay, it hurt and there seemed to be some blood but it seemed insignificant in the greater scheme of things. He removed his knit cap and saw it was dark with blood.

Gibbs pulled back the collar of Tony's jacket and shone a flashlight on him. He looked grim and called, "Medic!"

"It's not that big a deal," Tony objected. All of a sudden, the world started to tilt and he went down on his knees.

The medic hurried over, a woman with her hair tied back and freckles across her nose. The look on her face was similar to Gibbs', and when she told Tony to remain very still – "Please do not move, Agent." – and Gibbs warned – "DiNozzo, if you don't stop squirming, I'm gonna tie you to the damn tree." – he took them both seriously.

The medic, who told Tony her name was Janine, taped a thick pad behind his ear, and efficiently rolled a wide strip of gauze around his head to keep it in place. She then did the same with the side of his neck.

"What's wrong with my neck?" Tony tried to touch it but Gibbs blocked him.

"Is that too tight, Agent DiNozzo?"

"I guess it's okay. How bad am I hurt?"

"There's a big splinter in your neck," Janine explained.

"Oh. You mean it…"

"Look straight ahead, okay? Don't turn your head. This is important. Once we get you back to the vehicle, I'll fit you with a cervical collar to keep it steady, until we get you to the hospital."

"I don't want to go–"

Gibbs told him to shut up, that he had no say in the matter, and there was some discussion about how to transport him, which Tony didn't really listen to because all of a sudden he felt really cold and he was breathing too fast, like he was about to puke. Then Gibbs was there, crouching in front of him. "You did good, DiNozzo. Saved a lot of people. You're gonna be fine."

"I'm going to be fine?"

"Damn right you are," Gibbs said, with a confident smile.

Tony could tell he was just saying that so he wouldn't panic, which was really nice of him. In a way, it worked, because they gave him some juice to drink and got him to his feet. Gibbs noticed the round grenades in his pocket and handed them over to an ATF agent, and then they were on their way. Tony walked out on his own steam, apparently, although all he remembered about the journey was the feeling of Gibbs' arm around his waist, offering more than just physical support.

When he was seated in a big SUV, a rigid collar around his neck, he discovered Zander sitting opposite him. Gibbs slid into the vehicle next to Tony and as they started to move, he said, "You know ATF Agent Zander Dimitropoulos."

Zander smiled and nodded. Gone was the moody wannabe soldier, and in his place was a confident ATF agent. "Glad to see you got out," he said.

"Okay. Wow, I didn't see this one coming. Sorry about not giving you a heads-up… I didn't have time," Tony said.

"It's okay. I joined a couple of guys in a jeep. We didn't get far. Your people had already set up roadblocks, and my boss confirmed my identity, so we're all good."

Tony thought of the two men he'd killed, and that although the Warheads' plan had been stopped before it had even gotten off the ground, they were only one group among a thousand similar ones. "Yeah. We're just great." He swallowed and said sincerely, "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks for trying to help me. Not many people would have done what you did," Zander said, reaching out to shake Tony's hand.

It was Gibbs who said, "That's what makes Tony DiNozzo so special."

Tony grinned all the way to the ER.

~ • ~ • ~ • ~