Chapter 3

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Ziva asked, her voice dripping with skepticism. She looked at the mansion under construction. This area was a ritzy suburb of DC, not some warehouse or public internet café.

"This is where the trace ended up," Tim said uncertainly. This brought back worse memories than the kidnaping. This looked too much like the time he'd sent Gibbs to the slumber party.

Ziva sighed.

Stung by her dismissal, Tim stepped past her onto the lot. "This is the place. Let's check it out, although he may be gone by now."

"Fine." Ziva followed him, drawing her gun. "I'll take this floor. You go upstairs. Meet back here in five minutes."

Tim didn't respond. He walked up the wooden stairs. Each room was the same: empty. Most didn't even have walls yet. It was just a maze of studs. Five minutes later, he met Ziva back by the front door.

"Nothing. It isn't even wired yet. How could the trace have been coming from here? How strong would the wireless have to be?"

Tim looked around, a bit bewildered. This was the place. He'd stake his job on it. He just couldn't explain it. "Wait. Did you check the basement?"

"I didn't see a door to a basement."

"Well, there has to be. I saw windows outside that are lower than this level. For structural integrity, they'd probably put it near the other staircase." Tim walked around and started tapping on the wall.

"McGee, this is silly. Just admit that you made a mistake," Ziva said. She just wanted to join up with Gibbs and Tony and do some real work. She was overly antsy from her forced inactivity, and she itched to do something. It made her more blunt that she would normally be.

For the first time, Tim looked at her, the hurt apparent on his face, but his voice was hard. "I didn't make a mistake. This is where the signal came from. I can't explain how yet, but this is the place, Ziva." He turned back to the wall and tapped again. "Here! Right here." Tim began to tear down the plywood.

"McGee! We don't have a warrant."

"We have enough evidence to check this place out. No one lives here yet, but we have probable cause." He pulled at the plywood again. "Are you going to help or not?"

Ziva shrugged and holstered her gun. It was better than nothing. With the two of them, one determined to prove he was right and the other desperately wanting to do anything active, the plywood didn't stand a chance.

"Ha! I told you," Tim said as they both looked at the stairs going down into darkness. He pulled out his flashlight and stepped by Ziva. "Coming?" he taunted.

Ziva flushed. "Yes." She drew her gun again as well as her flashlight and followed Tim down into the basement.

"This place is finished. That doesn't make any sense," Tim said, looking at the doors, sheetrock and ceiling. "The rest of the house is not even close to being done. Why would they do the basement?"

"Camouflage?"

"It has to be. We'd better call Gibbs."

"No. Not until we find out if this is another wild goose chase."

Tim covered a smile. Ever since she had figured out that idiom, she found a way to work it into most conversations. He wondered if she even realized that she did it. "Okay. What should we..."

The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion for Tim while Ziva felt she had no time at all to react. For some reason, she froze when she heard the door open behind her. She turned and then couldn't seem to move at all. She felt dead and couldn't even lift her gun.

Tim, who was standing to the side of the little foyer, saw the man drawing a bead on Ziva, the laser lighting up a point on her forehead. In his mind's eye, he saw Erin lying dead on the floor. He couldn't let someone else die in front of him. In the dim light of the room, he saw the man pulling the trigger.

"No!" he shouted and ran at Ziva, crashing into her and shoving her out of the way of the bullet. He wasn't quite fast enough. He saved her, but the bullet hit him instead. His shout gave way to a scream of pain. The two of them careened into the other door which gave under their combined weight.

Ziva hit the concrete floor, momentarily dazed by the force of the fall. Tim, still high on the adrenaline rush, leapt up and slammed the door closed, bracing himself against it as the man tried to get in. He heard the distinctive sound of gunfire, but the metal door stopped the bullets from getting through.

"Help me, Ziva!" Tim shouted as the door started to slide open.

Ziva quickly shook off her daze and jumped up beside Tim. Her added strength closed the door again. Suddenly, the force on the other side ceased. Then, in the silence, they heard the sounds of chains and of something large being dragged across the floor. More sounds and then, silence. Tim pulled the door handle and tried to open the door. It didn't budge.

"He's locked us in." Tim said. Suddenly, his adrenaline rush faded and a sharp pain flared up in his shoulder. Wordlessly, he slid down the door, leaving a trail of blood.

"Great."

Tim didn't respond. In the darkness, Ziva couldn't see him at all.

"McGee?"

There was a small gasp of pain, and Tim said faintly, "Ziva, I think we have a problem."

"Yes, McGee, we are locked in a little room."

"No... um, I think I'm bleeding."

"What?"

"There's something wrong with my shoulder."

Ziva looked around the room and noticed her flashlight lying forgotten on the ground. She picked it up and swept it around to illuminate Tim leaning against the door. The bloody trail he'd marked as he'd slid down to the ground was painfully obvious.

"What happened, McGee?"

Tim looked dazed and pale as he shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he shot me?"

He had unconsciously grabbed his shoulder, but she could see the blood oozing out through his fingers. That was bad. She knelt by him and pulled his hand away so she could get a look at his shoulder. There was no exit wound. The bullet was lodged somewhere. That was worse. At this point, the best she could do was stop the bleeding.