AN: I had a tooth removed this afternoon. I've already whinged mightily about it to Di, and Cheeky, and TesubCalle… so why am I whingeing to everyone? Well, if this chapter's rubbish, I suppose I've got an excuse. Please continue to bear in mind that I know nothing about drugs, including the pricing…

Poisoned Poison

Chapter 6

"Word's got around," Alex Hahn was saying. "We put it out that the stuff was unsafe, lots of people we spoke to already knew. We'll be updated if there are any more incidents, so will you, whether they're your jurisdiction or not."

Gibbs nodded his thanks; he was certain without asking that McGee would already have taken care of that, but Hahn was trying to be helpful. He knew that Fuller's deputy didn't really need to be there to give his update, but he understood. The DEA agent was worried about his boss, just as Gibbs was worried about Tony, and being here at least made him feel as if he was doing something. Dammit, DiNozzo…

Blossom sat patiently by Hahn's feet, but even she was restless, picking up on the mood of the humans. Every time the elevator dinged, or someone walked by, she jumped up, then sighed and sat down again. She was only doing what he wouldn't let himself do, Gibbs thought, and reached down to rub the Springer's ears sympathetically. The little dog snuffled, and then lifted her head, as the sound of approaching boots caught her attention.

Abby could have called, both Gibbs and McGee were thinking the same thing, but she was another one who didn't want to be alone just now. Ziva, returning from autopsy, came hurrying behind her, and Abby, silent for once, but just about vibrating, stood aside for her to report first. Gibbs smothered his usual bark. "What have you got?"

"Ducky informs me that he will not perform the autopsy on the second marine," she said. "He will accept the hospital's findings, since they already know what medication was given in order to try to save the young man. They will send a report, and blood and tissue samples to us, for Abby to compare." She paused. "I believe that Ducky was a little disappointed at my visit," she added. "I am certain he wanted to come up here." She didn't sound puzzled; Gibbs thought she was beginning to understand the way this team took things personally, and he knew that she too was anxious about Tony.

Abby glanced over at the elevator doors, which mulishly refused to ding for her, clasped her hands in front of her like a schoolgirl, and took a deep breath. "The substance that poisoned the marines and their friend was from the Starling Stash, and the heroin profile that Agent Fuller's analyst gave me, heavily cut with baking soda. The cocaine content was still double what you might expect." Another involuntary look at the elevator. Agent Hahn echoed it. "Nothing new there. But, I do have some good news, very good news in fact, or it would be, Gibbs, haven't you heard anything?"

"Nothing, Abs."

The forensic scientist's glance went to Tim's desk, but he wasn't there. "Well… Tim had this Stork guy's Beemer brought over, and I found the rest of his stash. Two hundred and ninety-one speedballs, ready to go… in a secret compartment. That's…two hundred and ninety-one fewer possible deaths… that's good news, isn't it, Gibbs?" She looked at him soulfully; any other time she'd have been jumping so high those boots would have rattled the entire bull-pen.

"Attagirl, Abs," Gibbs said, and seeing the relieved look on Alex Hahn's face, he added, "That has to help you, Agent Hahn."

Alex nodded. He still didn't smile, the worry was too strong, but he reassured Abby. "It's very good news, Miss Sciuto –"

"Abby," she said automatically.

"Alex. It could mean that only the few that may be out there unused are still a threat."

"Do people keep them around or a special occasion? Or do they usually do the stuff right away?"

"Right away, Abby. You know, it's that addictive, and of course there's the risk of being caught with it on you."

"But you said 'could'," Abby worried. "You're not sure."

"Well, Stork had already sold enough to buy himself a car; we could really do with knowing how much he paid for it, and how much he paid Tressel for his kilo, to take a reasonable guess at what could be left. Or, we need to get Stork, and just make him tell us."

Gibbs said, "We had a look round his lodgings, didn't find anything; we could get a search warrant, but it wasn't the sort of place you'd leave anything of value lying around."

Alex nodded. "I'd hope, since we've heard no bad news from the hospitals, that the threat's over – or at least nearly over. Of course, there are nine more kilos out there…"

Abby also refused to be totally comforted. "It doesn't get us any closer to finding Tony and K-" The elevator pinged, their heads swung round, Blossom leapt up, and it was McGee.

"Er… sorry," he said, having no idea what he was apologising for, but aware of the five baleful glares he was receiving. "I was just seeing Ben Warner off the premises. He's a college friend of John Fehr, the civilian who was killed. There was a message from him on Warner's phone saying 'give me my boots back, you dork' and I wondered if he'd stolen them to pay for…" He caught Gibbs' look, and interpreted it as 'Today, McGee', and hurried on.

"I called him, and he offered to come in and give a statement. They were pals, played on the ice-hockey team at GWU, he'd taken their boots to be sharpened, and hidden them just to rag his mate. He gave them back yesterday… well, he said Fehr had told him he'd speedballed once and liked it, and he was going to treat his two Marine pals to a farewell shot before they went away. He said the marines had never done it before. Warner tried to talk him out of it, thought he had done. He's pretty upset – something else to chalk up to the Starling stash." He sighed sadly. "I don't know if that contributes anything, but I guess lack of tolerance to the drug could have been a factor in their deaths."

There was silence for a moment. "Nice work, McGee," Gibbs finally said. Tim perked a little at the compliment, but said nothing.

"This secret compartment," Hahn said thoughtfully. "How was it done?"

"Built into the transmission tunnel," Abby said. "Manual gearbox, rear wheel drive… I thought the tunnel was just a little too long to be good design – the rear passengers would catch their feet on it, so I lifted the carpet, and there it was. The shape of the tunnel was extended backwards by a hood, welded down, smoothed and sprayed, a slot in the side to release a hatch, very clever. The carpet was fixed to tuck under the rear seat so you'd never know you could lift it."

"From what we know of Stork, he wouldn't have been able to do that," Alex said. "When we catch up with him, it might be useful to know who he got the car from. Like, maybe another pusher going up in the world."

"I'll see if there's any legal trail to follow on that," Tim said, and went back to his desk. He began to pull out his chair, then exclaimed "What?" in surprise. He crashed down into the chair and began hitting keys furiously. "Boss… I left a search running after the cell signals vanished… and six minutes ago… Tony's cell phone -" Suddenly they were all round Tim's desk, murmuring at once… He ran the sequence again to show them. "Five seconds worth of weak signal… five miles away… then it died again."

"Yeah, that's because they ran them down so they were no use to us," a voice said. Blossom yipped, and ran to Kent, her whole body wagging, never mind her tail. He gathered her up, and she showered him with smelly doggy kisses, then would have jumped across to Tony and done the same, if her handler hadn't remembered his bad arm and stopped her. Not even she had heard the elevator this time.

Abby began to advance on Tony, glaring. Ziva came from the other side, and for a moment, Tim found himself smiling at the sight of the two women jostling for position over who was going to yell at the SFA first. "DiNozzo –" Gibbs began furiously, then thought to himself that the SFA couldn't have been any paler if he'd been charged down by Abby wielding a gallon drum of Brilliant White Vinyl Silk, and his voice softened. "OK, I'm listening."

"Don't look at me like that, Boss," the SFA said softly, under the general buzz of conversation. "I'm fine. No, really. Sablea didn't try to kill us –"

"Sablea?"

"Yeah. Kinda thought he'd have liked to…. Anyways, I slept on the plane –"

"Plane?"

"Yeah… and we've got Stork. In interrogation one." He'd known that that would take the attention from him, and sidled over to McGee as Kent took up the tale of their afternoon. "Probie," he asked quietly, " D'you have anything urgent running? Need you to look at something… ASAP."

"Sure. Shouldn't you sit down? You look –"

"If you tell me 'like crap', McGee, I swear you'll regret it. I'll get creative. I'll… " He deflated suddenly. "Hell, it doesn't matter." He put up no resistance when Tim grabbed his elbow, and pulled him towards his own desk. Ziva observed, but said nothing. What had Gibbs called them? The trouble hint twins? No… she swore in Hebrew under her breath, and paid attention to what Fuller was saying about Stork.

The Probie pushed the SFA down into the chair he'd just shot out of, perched on the edge of his desk, and turned his monitor and keyboard towards him. "OK, look at what?"

"Stately homes. I've got some clues. Kent said the plane wasn't in the air an hour – he managed to look at his watch before they blindfolded us –"

"Who?"

"Tell you later… he looked again when we took them off, and it was an hour and twenty minutes later, right? He says we were in the cars for about ten minutes each, and I guess I'd agree. I remember the car rides… can't say the same for the plane. But that makes our stately home no more than an hour or so's flying distance away, or less if they flew in a circle to confuse us. It has an airfield fairly near, -"

"What sort of size?"

"Our aircraft was a twin engine turbo prop, seats for at least five, that's all I can tell you."

"OK, that rules out little private grass strips. What else?"

"An English butler called Robert, aged about fifty, and a library with a Latin motto carved into the lintel over the fireplace. 'Aut disce aut discede'. Need me to spell it?"

Tim had already opened up a Latin quotations site, and typed rapidly. "Just tell me if that's OK?" Tony nodded, and Tim hit search. A moment later, they looked at each other in stunned surprise.

"Well I'll be –" The younger man said.

"It's that easy?" Tony said in amazement. "Er… that is, nicely done, Probie!"

'Aut disce aut discede' they read, 'learn or go away – a terse admonishment to students, often found at the entrance to a library or school room. Perhaps the most interesting example in the USA is carved into the single oak log mantelpiece in the library of Vantage Point House, at Hillerburg, NJ.'

"That's where you were?"

Tony realised that Tim hadn't heard Kent's explanation, and gave him the potted version, leaving out such unimportant things as being gassed, and facing down an East Coast crime lord. As he did so, the Probie's fingers flew in a way that left the SFA breathless, and a little green with envy. He shrugged internally; this was a skill he was never going to have, he reminded himself to be grateful that someone on the team did. Not hat he'd let the Probie know… oh, he just did…

"There, now… Tony? Tony, you OK?"

"Yeah… sorry… what?"

"You just spaced out for a second. Look at this…"

"Robert Wilson Joyce," Tony read, as a face he recognised well looked politely back at him from the screen. "Age fifty-one. British. Trained in the Netherlands…yada yada… current position butler of Senator William Warner, of –"

"Vantage Point House, Hillerburg, NJ," Tim joined him. "So, Sablea was staying there, went to all that trouble to stop you from knowing where you were and who owned the place, and two minutes after you arrive back…" They both burst into laughter, and everyone else, hearing them, turned in time to see the astonishing sight of the Troublemint Twins high-fiving.

Gibbs walked over and wiped the grin from Tony's face. If it had even tried to come back, it would have been frightened off again by the sight of Abby standing behind his shoulder. "So, you were going to tell me about the gas when, exactly?"

"Gas?" McGee glared at him.

"Didn't need to, Boss… I knew Fuller would." He spoke his friend from the DEA's surname like it was a naughty word, and glared. Kent smiled, unruffled. "Don't you want to know what Technowunderkind just found out?"

It took a few minutes before everybody was up to date with everything. Alex Hahn left to bring the DEA team up to date, leaving Blossom with Kent. Tony thought he'd successfully diverted Gibbs' attention when he said, "Well, I guess we need to have a word with Stork, then. You comin'?"

"Sure, Boss…" Tony began to get up, trying to look as if it wasn't any effort at all.

Gibbs huffed. "I need coffee," he muttered under his breath. "I was asking Agent Fuller," he said severely. "You, go and see Ducky. Abby, see that he does."

They all moved off in their various directions, McGee thinking that fresh air and a trip to the Coffee shop wouldn't come amiss; but as he headed towards the elevator, his name was called urgently.

"McGee!" No embellishment; sure sign Tony was tired, but then so was he, so were they all.

"Yeah, Tony, I'll bring you some tea."

"I know you will, Probissimus. I was thinking… Warner… wasn't that the name… you said just now you talked to Fehr's friend…"

Ziva was closest to a computer; she tapped away, and said, "Senator Warner has three children. The youngest is Benjamin, a student at George Washington University."

They all looked at each other.

"Coincidence," McGee said. "A powerful Senator plays host to an infamous drug dealing criminal. The Senator's son just happens to know someone who dies from bad drugs. You don't believe in coincidences, Boss."

"Do you, McGee?"

"Not this time, Boss."

"I will begin to gather information on Senator Warner," Ziva said and sat down.

"Only the public domain stuff, Ziver," Gibbs said warningly. "We'll get McGee to do the sensitive stuff when he gets back. Don't want him to know we're looking at him. Nice spot, DiNozzo." Tony nodded, too busy yawning to answer.

"Well," Ziva said thoughtfully, "a Senator, no less. That's a very big target."

Abby and Tony paused on their way to the autopsy lift. "Doesn't matter how big, Ziva. When the Silver Haired Fox gets his teeth into them, they're all the same." For Abby, there was never any doubt.

"So, the bigger they are, the harder they fall,"Ziva mused.

"Er, Ziva, it's 'the higher they go'…" Tony began, then he stopped , and grinned. "No, actually, I like your version better."

AN: I'm getting lazy… I've only done one read-through. Blame the toof.