Acts of Hubris - Part 11
by: Tamsin Bailey

As far as stakeouts went, three was definitely a crowd.

Tony had tried pulling rank when Ziva announced that she was coming along; McGee has pointed out how small and uncomfortable the backseat was; but Ziva had, in her threatening way, held up a pinky finger, and even though neither of them was completely sure she could kill both of them at once, they weren't going to risk being the one that didn't get away.

So now they sat in the driving rain and the morning commute, playing rock-paper-scissors to see who had to make the next coffee run. And despite the rising level of violence between the front and back seats, Tim thought there was a certain coziness in the company and the drum of the rain.

Then Jack Ryker opened his front door, and he remembered that Kate had died on a day like this.

Their quarry balked at the force of the rain, then pulled up his jacket hood and dove into the weather.

"Hey," Tim whispered. And when there was no response: "Hey!"

"What!" Tony barked, busy trying to regain possession of the hand Ziva was using in a genuine attempt to leverage his shoulder out its socket. "If you're not man enough to hit her for me, at least shut up for a while, McGoo."

McGee, possessed by a sudden and foreign spirit, popped his hand against the back of Tony's head. A hollow thwap that made all three freeze, eyes round in the elastic stretch of seconds. McGee's mouth dropped into a frozen 'O' of horror, but Ziva sagged back, letting go of Tony's wrist while a smile twitched along the outside edges of her lips.

Tony used the new freedom to pull his face from between the steering wheel spokes. "You dare." he hissed, malice in his slitted eyes, but McGee had already decided through was the only way out. He grabbed the other man's face, squishing his cheeks into a fish mouth, forcibly realigning his line of sight while cutting off any more words.

"Jack Ryker. Jack Fucking Ryker you douchbag."

Tony jerked and squinted. "U thure?"

"Yes, I'm goddamn sure."

Tony yanked his face out of McGee's grip, palming his jaw. "Okay. Okay. Calm down Probie-wan Kenobi. I'll call Gibbs." But even as he dug down into his hip pocket, his phone began to vibrate and chatter. He pulled it out, looking at the caller ID.

"Again with the creepy physicness," he muttered, flipping it open. "Boss! I was just about to call you. We've got a visual on Ryker." He listened, then nodded sharply, yanking his door open.

"Lets go."

They waited for him at the corner, zipping him into a neatly laid pocket. Tony herding him close towards the building, forcing him to take the corner tight. Ziva making him stop short. McGee boxing in the side.

His eyes showed alarm, but not outright fear. Even hunched up against the rain he was tall and compactly muscled. Probably very unused to being intimidated. Ziva gave a muted flash of her badge, melting the sharpest edge of his unease.

"Jack Ryker. You need to come with us," she said.

His eyes flicked warily between them. "Why?"

Tony caught and held his eyes, letting his own height and strength be a challenge. "Because you did a bad thing Jackie, and now you have to go to time out."

Back against a literal wall, their cornered mouse flipped rapidly through all the possible responses. Tony watched as decision click behind his eyes. A dumb one.

He was agile for a muscular guy, surprisingly fast, trying to bowl over what he thought was the weakest link in their picket. Except Ziva didn't bowl. She let her weapon fall, grabbing fistfuls of his clothing and yelling something brutishly angry in Hebrew. He came down on top of her, cut off the words in a woof of air being driven out of her lungs. She writhed, and Ryker scrambled up.

Tony bellowed his own abrupt rage, pulling his weapon fully out of its holster and stretching his legs in pursuit. He should have made it first. Physics were on his side – closer, longer legs. But McGee caught up first, sticking out a foot to trip Ryker, bringing his weapon around to point at the lurching man's back. "Stop! Hands on your head. Or I'll shoot!" he screamed.

Ryker humped awkwardly, face stretched into a rictus of effort as he used two feet and a hand to crab away. Tony saw the other hand under his jacket, frantically searching for something.

"Weapon, McGee!" he screamed, putting the full force a severely taxed lung capacity behind it. "He's got a weapon!"

McGee heard, lashing out with a foot to kick Ryker down on all fours. Too late though. Ryker had found what he wanted, something sliver glinting in his hand as he twisted to launch himself back towards McGee's knees. The agent's weapon went flying as they fell together, a roiling mass of barred teeth and deep grunts. Ryker seemed to expect his greater weight to overwhelm McGee, but for the second time in less than a minute he was surprised.

Tony could have told him. Could have explained it easily. For someone with so many muscles, Ryker had no understanding of the rules of play. The game always went to the one who wanted it more.

McGee flipped Ryker, slamming his wrist against the ground and sending the slim little blade spinning. Straddled his opponent's waist, McGee brought his arm against Ryker's throat as the man went limp under the pressure.

McGee blew hard, breath hissing around clenched teeth. "You are under arrest asshole."

)()()()()()()()()()()()(

Gibbs stood in front of the one way mirror, looking into the interrogation room. Occasionally he sipped from a cup that had cooled to lukewarm a while ago. On the other side of the mirror sat a man wearing a pair of NCIS coveralls, hair still damp, hunched up from chill and from nerves.

The door to the observation room snicked open, making the displaced air swirl. He held a long swallow as the woman moved up beside him, watching her faint reflection in the glass. "Jen."

"Jethro," she acknowledged, "you've been in here a long time."

He didn't answer. If it was upsetting to have her concern brushed off so completely, she didn't show it.

"This the guy?"

"Yup."

"Abby ID'd him?"

"Nope."

"But he's the one."

"He's the one," Gibbs confirmed.

She looked at him and her smile held a deep, and deeply wry, affection. "Your gut?"

He glanced over, and his expression held a certain measure of her own. Then it faded and he was again looking at the man fidgeting in the other room. "Gonna need a full confession on this one, Jen. Last thing Abby needs is having to testify against this guy."

If it stung – having his affection but not his concern, she didn't let that show either. The carpet absorbed her footfalls, the door did not squeak, but her retreat was not as silent as her approach. "You're one of the agencies best interrogators, Agent Gibbs. I have every faith you can push him towards a full confession."

Behind her back, Gibbs did not turn from his study of the man in the other room, but if she wanted the last word, she was disappointed. Through the closing he said, "One of, Director?"

If she had any reply, Gibbs didn't hear it. He let himself finish the coffee before turning away from the mirror. Then another moment in front of the interrogation room door. A second to steel himself. Make himself steel. Anger had no place in an interrogation room.

Ryker came on point when he opened the door, head snapping towards him like a sight hound. "Are you here to tell me what this is about? Because last time I checked, I wasn't in the Navy."

In silence Gibbs moved across the room, sat, slid a copy of the surveillance photo across the table. "Do you know what this is?"

Ryker stared at the muddy and pixilated picture. When he looked up some of the challenge had melted out of his eyes, but he shook his head. "No."

"It's a photo of you stealing 4 pints of blood from the Fairfaxblood bank." He pulled it away. "Not a great picture. Half a year old, too. But there's no statue of limitations on trafficking in human organs."

Ryker sucked in a deep breath, then another, visibly gaining control of himself. "You're making a serious mistake here. I didn't sell any blood." He managed to say it calmly, with just an edge of anger. A reasonable citizen, pushed just a little too far.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I know."

Ryker paused, caught between confusion and anger. Gibbs let the hammer fall. "My superiors won't believe me. They want a big bust, good publicity, promotions. They get angry when a working stiff butts in, but me, I'm pretty sure you drank it."

Ryker went rigid, nostrils flaring with his rapid and shallow breaths. But if Gibbs was hoping for a first round knock out, he was disappointed. The man across the table was pale with fury, not fear.

"You're goddamn crazy," Ryker spat.

Gibbs went on as if he hadn't said anything. "We know you stole those 4 pints of blood from the Fairfax blood bank. We know you had a regular supply from the Alexandriablood bank. But when my agents looked, they couldn't find anything. Nothing in your car. Nothing in your apartment. The higher ups say you must be selling it. But the funny thing is, we can't find any money either. No vacations, no porches, no numbered accounts." Gibbs shrugged, "Criminal investigation 101."

If the news that agents had riffled through his life bothered Ryker, he hid it completely. In fact he leaned back, stretching his long legs out. "Agent Gibbs," he said, "are you ever going to tell me what this is really about?"

Gibbs looked surprised. "I've already told you."

Ryker batted it away contemptuously. "Come on. You said yourself there is no evidence I'm selling blood on the black market. As for the stealing; there's no evidence of that either."

Gibbs pulled his head back in a gesture of skeptical surprise. "There isn't?"

"No. Because I didn't do it." Beneath the easy tone, there was something Gibbs had heard before. Threat. A bully hinting at consequences. Ryker thought the man across from him could be intimidated into dropping this.

Gibbs leaned back in his own chair, giving off a great air of calculation. After a long moment, he said, "You're right. The blood doesn't make you anything but a side show freak."

Behind the mirror Tony and Ziva, who had taken up position after Gibbs left, exchanged a look. You're right wasn't something Gibbs said to them, let alone to someone he was interrogating. And after what this guy did to Abby...?

"This should be interesting," Tony muttered.

Across the mirror Gibbs pulled out another picture, laying it over the surveillance photo. This one was glossy with contrast. A full color spectrum of Abby's bruised face. "This is about her."

A flash of anger had spasmed across Ryker's face at being called a sideshow freak, but he tamped it down, bending to look at the picture. He gave off no shock of recognition, but when he looked back up his smile was one of a cat who ate the canary. "She musta done something, to get someone that angry at her."

Gibbs made a grab for the reins of his temper, pulling up at the last second. He stayed in his chair, but Ryker still saw the twitch. Understanding flooded his face. "I get it," he said. "You know this chick." He leaned forward, a one sided conspiracy. "You doin' her? Is that what this is about?"

Gibbs had regained mastery of himself. "Last Saturday night someone took this woman into an alley for what she thought would be a fun game of grab ass. Instead the man beat her, sliced open her arms, and apparently fled the premises with a good amount of her blood." His smile showed the thinnest edge of his contempt.

Ryker grinned back expansively. Either he was relieved there had been no mention of rape, or he just enjoyed making people uncomfortable. Not that the second precluded the first.

"So, because I was near a blood bank that happened to be robbed half a year ago, you think I did it? That's pretty circumstantial, Agent Gibbs."

"I know you did it," Gibbs said mildly.

"Yeah? How'er you gonna prove this one? With butterflies and lollipops?"

"No," Gibbs said, "with DNA."

"You want me to give you a DNA sample?" If it made Ryker nervous, he did not betray it. Which meant he was either a very good actor, or he completely believed he would escape this.

"Volunteer," Gibbs corrected. He was voting on the second option.

"Why?"

"For comparison. Blood was found under the victim's fingernails," Gibbs set the snare gently. Ryker knew Abby had not scratched him deeply enough to draw blood, so whatever was under her fingernails, it couldn't be his. Safe on the sidelines, there was no way he could resist such a golden opportunity to jerk a federal agent around.

"And if I don't 'volunteer'?"

"Then we get a judge to subpoena you, start an official police record."

Ryker leaned back, clearly enjoying playing Gibbs at the end of his line. "And if I volunteer, what happens when the samples don't match?"

"No subpoena, no record. You'll be free to go," Gibbs said sourly, appearing to struggle with something. "And the Director of NCIS will offer you an official apology."

"Official, huh? On the letter head and everything?"

Gibbs nodded. Ryker looked at him, all mockery gone, his eyes glittering with a malicious victory. "One condition."

"What?" Gibbs snapped, only half acting that this bargaining was burning a hole in his stomach.

"I want the apology to be from you. Directly from you."

In the observation room, Ziva looked sideways at Tony. "Hook, line, and sinker, yes?"

Tony glanced briefly aside. "Yes, actually."

Gibbs sucked in some air, giving every appearance of a man pushed hard against his breaking point. Struggling with pride and anger. Finally he nodded, a painful jerk. "From me. Personally."

Ryker's grin was shark like, and Gibbs, like a man trying to buoy up his lagging authority added, "If it doesn't match."

Tony and Ziva met him outside the interrogation room door. "Have Larkin Jones come up from the lab to get the DNA and hair samples," he ordered, looking hard at his senior field agent. "No screw ups on this, DiNozzo."

"Not a one, Boss," Tony promised.

A/N: In the home stretch now folks. Two chapters to go. Whew!