Chapter 3


They weren't about to abandon the site immediately with a man missing, of course. The store clerk, one Davon Curtis, according to his driver's license, did not seem to really be in on it, so Gibbs called for a back-up team to come and take him to NCIS. He could wait in Holding and the back-ups could do a background check on him while the search for Tim went on.

Ziva found a trapdoor to a dusty basement, but that turned up nothing. The shop was otherwise clean and tidy. The back door led to an alley. The handle was dusted for fingerprints, but it would likely be found to have many different ones.

The shop next door, a liquor store, was still open. Tony interviewed the clerks on duty, and one reported that an unmarked van with a bad muffler had driven out of the alley minutes before. He could only describe it as being light-colored.

Gibbs looked off into the distance, frustration evident on his face. Tim shouldn't have gone off to the convenience store by himself, but then none of them had expected trouble. Yet…trouble had come. There was nothing more to go on here.

Where was Tim? And how was Keating connected to this? Gibbs pulled out his phone and called Vance.


Vance was waiting for them when they arrived back at the squad room. He wore a polo shirt and casual slacks, typical for someone who'd been yanked out of his home on a weekend evening.

"Did Keating snatch McGee?" he asked as an abrupt greeting.

Gibbs gave him a look, although he kept the fire out of it. That wasn't the real question Vance was asking, he knew. That one was How could you let our chief suspect get away?

Shrugging, he only said, "Remains to be seen." He was about to set Ziva to monitoring Keating's cell phone, when he had an idea.


At this point, Tim didn't know where he was, either, other than he was in a moving vehicle, in the cargo area (a truck? a van?), in total darkness, and his head hurt. Someone had clubbed him from behind, evidently, just after he'd entered the convenience store and had started asking the clerk if he'd seen someone of Keating's description.

He then heard a ringing of a cell phone. Not his own; it sounded a little ways off and besides, he would never choose to have In the Hall of the Mountain King from Peer Gynt as his ringtone. That just wasn't…an agent wouldn't do that. Only…

Keating?

A wave of dizziness overtook him as the vehicle lurched, and Tim passed out again.


Gibbs pocketed his phone with a sigh. No answer in his calls to either Keating or Tim. It had been a longshot. He had Tony put a trace on both phones while Ziva pulled up Keating's phone history.

He reflected on the misshapen team Vance had cobbled together for him two years ago. Two of the three members of it were dead now. They'd assumed back then that that was the end of things. If Keating kills McGee, I'll… Not for the first time did he wish that he could just live a quiet life as a carpenter.

If no ransom demand came in, they'd soon be looking at a recovery mission, rather than a rescue one.


When Tim next came around, he was lying on the carpeted floor of a room that looked vaguely office-like. There was a desk and a file cabinet; even a phone and a computer. Not that that did much good for someone whose hands and feet were bound.

"Don't struggle," said a familiar voice. "They're good at tying knots. I already tried."

"Keating!" Tim gasped. "What are we doing here?"

"Someone cold-cocked me. I just ran across the street for a packet of cough drops, and…but that doesn't explain what you're doing here." He looked at Tim with suspicion.

"I wish I knew."

"I was at the Kennedy Center. You don't live around there. You live in Maryland."

"Actually, I moved recently. I'm in that general area now."

"Oh."

Tim almost sighed with relief. He'd never be as good with the fast lies as Tony was. "Do you know who took you, and why?"

"No, and no. Not a clue. I was attending the ballet with a lovely young lady. I went outside at an intermission."

"Oh? Anyone I know?" Tim tried his best to look innocent.

Keating didn't answer. Maybe he thought Tim wouldn't believe him. "You've got more experience in field work than I do," Keating then said. "How do we get out of here?"

Maybe we were wrong about him all along. If he's guilty of something, why is he a prisoner, too? Tim grunted as he wiggled and stretched, and finally was able to reach the knife strapped at his ankle. In a few minutes he had cut through his ropes and then was working on Keating's. Their captor(s) had taken his gun and phone, but obviously hadn't thoroughly searched him.

Keating rubbed his sore ankles, and then stumbled to the door. "We're locked in!" he said in frustration.

"I'll deal with that in a minute," Tim said, heading for the desk and the computer and phone. Both were working, and the computer had an internet connection. Stupid crooks…

Feeling like he was in a comedy, Tim picked up the phone and dialed Gibbs' cell phone number (which he was glad to have memorized). "Hey, boss. I'm in a bit of a jam. Can you come get me?"

"McGee! What's going on? Where are you?"

"I don't know where I am. I'm captive somewhere, in a room. Oh, and, uh, Agent Keating is also captive here, and he doesn't know what's going on, either."

"And your captors allowed you to use the phone?"

"Well, they don't exactly know, yet. Are you tracing this?" Tim said, impatiently. "There's a computer here, too. Want me to send you an email? Assuming there's an email program on here. Is there any computer which doesn't have one?" he murmured, his mind wandering.

"Got the trace." Ziva's voice in the background. "It is coming from 1135 Boscoe Street, in Alexandria, Virginia."

"We're on our way, McGee," said Gibbs, then ending the call.

"You guys working the night shift?" Keating asked curiously. "Or does Gibbs have the capability to trace calls from his home?"

He's not as dense as he appears. "Gibbs has, uh, picked up a lot of computer skills in the last year," Tim remarked. "You'd be surprised."

"I guess so. I didn't think your team could be working tonight. I'll tell you now, my date was the beautiful and foxy Ziva David."

Keating's smirk was almost painful to behold. Tim hoped his own look of distaste looked something like shock. "You and…Ziva?"

"We both appreciate the finer things in life," Keating said with a haughty laugh. "Something you'll never understand, Navy brat. I was born to culture. My father is a museum curator. My mother, a concert pianist. You'll never have a chance with a lady of refinement like Ziva."

Tim felt sick on a number of levels. He tried to comfort himself with knowing that the team would soon be there, he and Keating would be freed, and he could then go someplace and retch. Steady, Tim, steady…

There was a window to the room. Tim looked out of it to see a street that could be Any City, Anywhere. He had a vague knowledge of Alexandria; having gotten lost there a few times before putting GPS in his car. There were office buildings across the street and a small amount of traffic for this late hour. Boscoe Street in and of itself meant nothing to him.

"How high up are we?" asked Keating, from across the room.

"About five floors. Why? Were you planning on escaping via the window?"

"Not unless there's a fire escape nearby."

"Don't see one…" How long would it take the team to drive down here at this time of night? Twenty minutes, tops. Ten if either Gibbs or Ziva drove…

There was a rustle at the door and Tim turned toward it, a smile breaking out on his face…

…which died on seeing the unfamiliar men with guns leveled at them…


"Who hides captives in an office building?" Tony muttered, as with a flash of their badges, the team was admitted by the elderly security guard.

"Someone who does not like the grime of warehouses and junk yards," Ziva remarked. "Too many people today are afraid to get their hands dirty. It is like Nikki Jardine, and her fear of germs."

Gibbs' look was thoughtful, and curious. "Like an IT person? There's not a lot of dirt involved in computer hardware, is there?"

"I do not believe so…Computers need to be dust-free to operate well." As they talked, they were moving down a hall. The landline phone Tim had called from was on the fourth floor.

Arriving at the elevator lobby, Tony was about to press the up button when one of the four cars opened. Gibbs' team jumped when out of the car came Tim, Keating, and three men with guns on them.

"NCIS! Federal agents! Drop your weapons!" Gibbs snapped, as he and his team instantly had their own firearms leveled.

One actually couldn't have said which side been the more startled by the turn of events, but Tim took advantage of the situation and dug a sharp elbow into the chest of the guy behind him, shoving him into the guy next to him, while diving for the floor. His team should now have a clear shot if they needed it (and if Keating was wise enough to likewise get out of the way).

Suddenly fire exploded in his shoulder, and he thought he heard another shot as well, followed by others. Then all went black.