Chapter 4
Gibbs, Tony and Ziva returned fire, dropping one shooter, wounding another, and causing the third to surrender, all in quick order. As emergency vehicles pulled up, Tim came back around, and tried to get up…unsuccessfully, for Tony had a knee on his chest.
"Thanks, McGee," said Keating, who sounded sincere. "Good diversion."
"S'okay," Tim panted. "I do this about once a week."
"Really?" asked Keating, shaking his head. "I think I'll stay in Cybercrimes, then."
"What does it all mean?" Vance asked Gibbs in his office, shortly afterwards.
"Hell if I know. We have a ballet buff who's either as innocent as a spotless lamb, or as guilty as sin. We can't question Keating, without tipping him off. We can only put him through a debriefing."
"Can't do that until tomorrow…gah; later today," said Vance, looking at his watch. It was nearly 1 a.m. "I made it a budgetary rule to bring in counselors at night only in the most dire conditions."
"I don't think he'll suffer much until then. In fact, I don't really care," Gibbs growled. "McGee took a bullet tonight for him."
"Or your team," Vance suggested. "How is McGee?"
"I'm waiting to hear from Ziva. I don't think the wound was bad; it was pretty high up on the shoulder."
"Well, you've got a number of suspects to interrogate. You want to get at it, or leave them until you've had some sleep?"
"Leave 'em. McGee's safe; I'm happy to get some down time."
"You'll get it soon. I need you to be an observer for a little while."
"Oh?"
"You can stay in here and watch my outer office on the screens. Keating is mine tonight."
Keating carried his black suit coat over one arm, and his tie was loosened. Glumly, he sat down opposite Vance on a chair in the outer office, up nest to Vance's secretary's desk. "Can't I come in and type up a report in the morning, sir?" Keating said. "I'm awfully tired."
Whiner. "And Agent McGee is feeling a little sore in the shoulder right now, I expect." With displeasure, Vance saw that Keating didn't even appear dismayed. He knew that Keating's psych profile put him as being a bit self-centered.
"I paid a lot for my ballet ticket. And I missed nearly half the show. Oddly enough…Ziva…Agent David…was attending the ballet, but when I saw her later…when the MCRT team came to rescue us, she was in street clothes. Is this some weird late shift for the team now?"
Vance didn't answer that. "I need you to tell me everything you can about the people who abducted you and McGee."
"I'll bet McGee can answer that better," said Keating, a little snidely. "He's a more experienced field agent than I am."
Vance slammed a hand on the desk. "McGee's in the hospital now! I'm asking you!"
Keating jumped. "Sorry, sir. I, um…I was in the convenience store across the street from the Kennedy Center…In & Out, it's called. I was in the medications aisle when someone stuck a gun in my back and told me to come quietly, or else."
"Describe him."
"I didn't see…I mean, deep voice, no accent, a little garlic on his breath. Probably about my height."
"What happened then?"
"He made me go out the back door of the shop, and then he must have hit me on the head…that's the last thing I remember until I came around in that office."
"You don't seem to have a bump on the head."
"I heal quickly. Always have. Good genes," Keating sniffed.
"Why do you think you were kidnapped? Was it for your good genes?"
Now Keating looked a trifle affronted. "Honestly, I don't know, Director. I don't do anything here that would make me worth kidnapping. McGee, on the other hand…"
Vance crossed his arms. "McGee?" he challenged.
"Well, it stands to reason, Director. I'm a likeable guy. McGee must have dozens of people who hate him. Maybe hundreds."
Who hired this bozo? "Yet McGee seems to have been kidnapped after you were. He entered the shop after you did. How would they know that he was coming in?"
"Are you sure he came in after I did? I would think that he went in first, and was grabbed, and then I came in just a minute or two later, and they couldn't leave a possible witness, so—"
Vance fought to keep his face blank. He couldn't directly answer that without blowing the investigation into this man. "Think a minute. Let's assume it's the other way around and you were the one they were after, and McGee is the innocent bystander. Have you angered anyone lately, personally or professionally? Anytime anyone attacks one of my people, they've attacked me," he said firmly.
Keating looked pleased by the personal attention. "Like I say, I'm a popular guy, sir. I only make friends; not enemies."
I think he really doesn't have a clue. "All right, Keating. Go home and get some rest. Report here at noon to meet with the stress debriefing counselor."
"Is that really necessary, sir? I don't feel stressed. It's over. I just want to enjoy what's left of the weekend."
"It's not optional, Agent Keating," Vance growled. "You were kidnapped and witnessed a colleague getting shot. You don't know how that might impact you down the road, psychologically. You be here, on time."
Keating gulped and nodded, and then left. When he was gone, Vance gave a nod to the camera and, thus, Gibbs. They knew nothing more than they had 12 hours ago.
It went without saying that Gibbs' team would be working on Saturday. If they could get the case mostly tied up that day, or at least reasonably far along, they'd get Sunday and Monday off.
Ziva came in around 9 a.m. with Tim in tow, his arm in a sling. Gibbs only raised his eyebrows on seeing Tim, but didn't comment. If Tim felt okay enough to work, even just for a few hours, Gibbs wouldn't complain.
"I thought of something, boss," Tim said stopping at Gibbs' desk. "When I came to in that office, Keating was already conscious."
"He told Vance he has a thick head. Or words to that effect," Gibbs grunted. "He didn't seem to have a head injury."
"He faked being knocked out, yes?" said Ziva.
"But why?" said Tony. "He couldn't have known that McGee was going to go into the store. He probably didn't know at all that we were in the area!"
"Perhaps it was McGee who stumbled on something, in the store." Ziva stared at Tim for a long minute.
"We have assumed that Keating did not know the team was watching him. If he is cleverer than I want to admit, then he may have suspected he was under surveillance, and my presence at the ballet may have confirmed it."
"And he played a little game of Follow Me, knowing that one of us would do so? Could be," Tony said, looking thoughtful. "McGee, you still look pale. Sit down before you fall down."
Tim did so without arguing. "That would be quite a gamble on his part."
"Not necessarily," said Gibbs. "If he had an appointment with someone, intermission during the ballet would be a good time for it…and still allow him to see the ballet. He could arrange for a meeting inside the store. But then Ziva turned up at the ballet and he turns suspicious…"
Tim shook his head. "I dunno. We're accusing Keating of a lot here. He seemed to me like a pretty straight-forward guy. Arrogant, yes, but not a criminal."
They all looked at him. "I mean, we just don't have enough to accuse him yet!"
"What about the top secret program that was downloaded on his home computer?" Tony demanded.
"I haven't forgotten about that. It may be that someone's trying to frame him."
"No one seems to dislike him as much as you do, McGee," Gibbs said mildly. "Get to work tracing the real routing of that file. Tony, Ziva, it's time to start questioning the people we have in Holding."
It being Saturday, there were many fewer people at work than on a weekday at NCIS. There was always need for support personnel, of course…even on federal holidays, there had to be someone in MTAC, certainly. The Intel crew was there, around the clock. A few other special agents worked, to be available. Some came in just to pick up overtime hours. But compared to the bustle of the work week, things were pretty quiet.
Tim was able to give his full attention to his computer with nothing to distract him. Time went by as he kept tracking routes, only to face blockades and have to start again. Each time he made a little more progress, but it was slow…painfully slow. Being able to type only with one hand didn't help.
Then he got the idea of running a trace from Keating's home computer, backwards. There was his daily anti-virus download, a systems update on two programs, a game update, and something Tim couldn't identify. It had no recognizable name on the file; just a long string of letters and numbers. The file type was also an unusual one. But the size was in the right range for the top secret file.
Where did you come from? Show me your route… There was no doubt that Keating had the file. The question was, did he download it himself, or did someone send it to him?
Trace…trace…trace… Tim took a long swallow of water. He was starting to feel tired, and would have to ask one of the team to give him a ride home once they got out of interrogation. What time is it? Almost noon…
Now the pieces were starting to fall into place. From Keating's home computer to Portugal, to Lebanon, to Turkey, to Malaysia, to a dozen other countries the signal bounced, and then the end of the line, back at NCIS, at…
The screen suddenly went black, and Tim yelped in protest. "You don't need to know that," said a voice behind him. "No one does. I'll erase that path…after I take care of you."
