Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.
BLINDSIDED
Chapter Nineteen
Gibbs and McGee burst from the elevator and ran for their agency sedan, each pressing their cells firmly to their ears.
"McGee?" Gibbs barked as they climbed into the car.
"Nothing, Boss," he said, willing calmness into his voice. "Purcell and Brunner's cells are diverting to voicemail. Have you reached Tony?"
"No."
He started the engine and flicked his cell to McGee who took a sharp catch. "Call Abby, tell her to keep trying Purcell and Brunner. You keep calling DiNozzo."
"On it, Boss," he said, securing his seatbelt.
Gibbs floored the gas pedal, sending the vehicle into a brief uncontrolled slide as it sped through the near empty parking lot toward the exit.
Minutes that seemed like hours passed as the car sped through the city streets, cutting corners, running traffic lights and causing several near collisions. McGee repeatedly called Tony's number, uttering an uncustomary curse each time his call diverted to voicemail.
His eyes widened and he inhaled sharply when his call was answered but no one spoke.
"Tony?" McGee said anxiously. "Tony are you there? Someone's there, Boss, I can hear them breathing." McGee cocked his head and looked confused. "Actually, I can hear snoring…Tony? Tony, wake up! Come on, Tony, answer me!"
"Gimme the damn cell," Gibbs snapped with more heat than he'd intended.
"Dammit, DiNozzo, wake up!" the former Marine yelled in a voice reminiscent of his DI days.
With the cell still held firmly against his ear and only one hand securing the steering wheel, Gibbs swung the sedan around a tight bend, oversteering then overcorrecting as the car fishtailed wildly before speeding onward. Despite his calm expression, McGee's muscles were reaching new levels in rigidity as, not for the first time, he made a mental note to talk to Abby about installing an additional brake pedal on the passenger side of the car.
"Maybe he took his meds, Boss."
"Now he starts following doctor's orders," Gibbs muttered sarcastically.
The two exchanged an uneasy look. Gibbs turned his attention back to the cell, banging it loudly against the console and window then producing an ear-spitting whistle.
"Boss?" the slurred voice sounded over the speaker, causing McGee to wonder how often Gibbs had used that particular wake up method on his senior field agent.
"Tony? Are you okay?" Gibbs asked.
"Sleeping," the tired voice replied.
"Tony, listen to me. Turner is not the shooter, repeat, Turner is not the shooter!" Gibbs said. "The real shooter may be outside the house. Do you understand?"
Despite the pull of the medication and the fuzziness in his brain, Tony sat up quickly - a little too quickly if the dizziness was any indication.
"Please tell me you don't mean this house," he muttered softly.
"There's no response from your protection detail. The shooter's truck is parked a block from the house, there's a good chance he's outside. We're on our way."
"Boss, I'm unarmed and I can't see," Tony said forcing the fatigue from his brain. "If he gets in here, I'm as good as dead."
"You keep talking like that, I'll kill you myself."
Tony inhaled quickly and tried to clear his mind of calamitous thoughts.
"How far out are you?" he asked.
"About 10 minutes. Tony, go down to the basement, there's a 9mm in the cabinet under the workbench. Get it and take cover under the stairs. We're coming for you."
"This is so wrong," Tony lamented.
"You got a better idea, I'm listening."
"No…I meant it's wrong that the shooter is coming after me and not you!"
Gibbs immediately recognised what his agent was doing. Despite the critical situation, the younger man was using the normalcy of the exchange to get his head straight. He'd seen him do it a thousand times and if it helped keep his agent alive, Gibbs was more than happy to play along.
"You ever wonder why that is, Boss? Why it's always me?"
"Nope," Gibbs said.
"Wait…why don't you wonder why it's always me?"
"I know you, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied casually. "Haul your ass downstairs, we're nine minutes out."
The sound of smashing glass sounded from the kitchen and Tony's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Too late, I got company. Where's the fuse box?"
"Entry hall cupboard, second shelf," Gibbs replied briskly.
"Boss? Fuse box?" McGee questioned.
"He's gonna level the playing field, McGee. 'S gonna cut the power – if this guy wants him, he's gonna have to find him in the dark."
"Sweet," McGee said. "You think it'll work?"
"Not if the guy has a flashlight," Gibbs replied pressing the gas pedal flat against the floor.
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Tony could hear the sound of someone jimmying the dead lock on the back door and knew there was no time for him to get to the basement and the gun.
He made his way carefully back into the living room, inordinately grateful that he'd heard Gibbs close the heavy drapes earlier that evening. With the power now cut the house would be in complete darkness. He gritted his teeth and cursed silently as his bruised shin, once again, made painful contact with the coffee table. He felt his way across the room and pressed himself as deeply as possible into the farthest corner.
He heard the telltale click of the lock as it released and the door swung open, the sounds of soft footsteps were accentuated by the silence of the house. The small amount of salt that had spilled on the floor when he'd dropped the saltshaker, now served him well as it crunched underfoot, alerting him to the approaching footsteps of the intruder.
Tony stood stock-still – he felt the trickle of sweat run down his spine and hoped like hell that the rigorous beating of his own heart, pounding painfully against his sternum, could not be heard.
'If this guy has a flashlight, it's all over,' Tony thought from his very open position in the corner of the room.
Relief fleetingly rushed through him as he heard the light switch flick on and off several times and heard a whispered curse. The floorboards to the left of the couch creaked under the weight of the trespasser as he entered the living room.
Tony almost guffawed at the soft grunt from the man as the coffee table claimed another victim – the intruder had wordlessly revealed his position and that he did not have a flashlight.
The ex-detective's mind drifted back to that afternoon when he and Gibbs returned to the house from the sports centre. After Tony had tripped over Gibbs' baseball bat, the former Marine had leant it against the unlit fireplace – it wouldn't deflect bullets but it may give him the element of surprise. Tony grimaced as he realised the intruder was between him and the bat.
He paused, listening for movement. The whisper of footsteps to his left told him the man was in the middle of the room and Tony found himself straining his eyes uselessly against his blindness and the cover of darkness. The timber floorboards betrayed the man's position again and Tony realised with a certain amount of trepidation, that he was standing only a few feet away. He held his breath, terrified that the sound of his own breathing would give him away, then a thought struck him. Closing his eyes, he listened as closely as he could and he heard the quick, yet quiet, breaths of the intruder. The sound was muffled and Tony realised the man was standing with his back to him.
By his reckoning, Gibbs was still more than five minutes out and Tony knew this guy would find him before the team leader arrived. If he were going to die tonight, he would not do it cowering in the darkness – no matter what the circumstances.
It was time to take the initiative.
Tony burst from his position. Grabbing the unsuspecting intruder from behind, he pinned his arms to his body. Once the element of surprise was gone, the man began to struggle against Tony's hold.
The agent's training kicked in and he quickly determined the intruder to be about six feet tall and about 190 pounds. Judging by the strength of the body struggling to break free, Tony realised with considerable dread that the guy was damned fit.
The man jerked suddenly and threw his head back. Catching Tony completely by surprise, the hard skull connected with the agent's forehead. His knees buckled and for a horrifying moment he thought he was going to break his own rule and pass out. He held on tenaciously as warm, sticky blood rushed down his face from a gash in his eyebrow.
The man twisted until they were standing almost face-to-face. Tony was unable to maintain his hold. He ran his hands down his assailant's arms until he located the gun. He wrapped his long fingers over the other man's and held on desperately. The two grappled - the barrel of the gun pointing dangerously from one to the other in their struggle.
The intruder released one hand from the gun. Tony felt the man's shoulder drop, telegraphing his intention to throw a punch. Though he could not see the blow coming, Tony turned his head and the fist struck him a mind-numbing blow to the temple. Before he could react another blow caught him solidly on the jaw. He managed to maintain his balance and still held doggedly to the gun.
Several body blows followed, the force almost knocking him down. Only the adrenalin charging his system and the thought that backup was minutes away, kept Tony on his feet. He was gasping for breath. No matter how much air he drew in, it wasn't enough. His arms and legs were trembling from his efforts and he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer.
Taking a chance, he removed one hand from the gun. With all the strength he could muster, he struck out with the heel of his hand. A short stifled scream followed the unmistakable crunch of smashing bone and cartilage and Tony knew he'd found his mark.
Blood ran freely from the intruder's broken nose. Pain and fury spurred him onward. He pushed forward, driving Tony backward until he'd forced him against the large front windows. For a terrible moment, Tony thought the windows might give under the force of their combined weight. Pushing back with all the energy he had left, the men continued their struggle near the unlit fireplace.
The intruder hooked his leg behind Tony's and swept his feet out from under him. Both men fell heavily to the ground as the deafening roar of a gunshot rent the air. Pain exploded through Tony's body and air whooshed out of his lungs. Shock and impact jolted the weapon free of both men's grasp and it clattered and slid along the timber floor.
Tony knew the other man had been shot. He'd heard the shout of pain before they'd hit the ground. He could hear the moaning and the sound of movement nearby – definitely not a kill shot. He needed to find the gun but didn't have the energy to stand. He dragged his exhausted body in the direction he'd heard the gun slide. He was unaware that the intruder had painfully regained his feet.
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Ziva parked her Mini at the kerb in front of Gibbs' house and took a deep breath. She felt sick about her earlier confrontation with Tony. Although it was likely that their partnership was over, she was not prepared to allow their friendship to end with such hostile, angry words.
The house was still in darkness but, as she now knew, it was not an indication that Tony had turned in for the night. She frowned as she realised that the protection detail had not approached her. Despite the fact that they knew who she was, SOP dictated that all visitors were to be approached and their arrival and departure times recorded.
She felt uneasy as she climbed from her car and crossed the front lawn. Uneasiness turned to alarm when she saw Agent Purcell lying on the ground behind some bushes. Drawing her weapon, she scanned the area for any movement as she knelt by Purcell's side. Relieved to find a strong pulse, she removed the gaffer tape from his mouth and noticed a wad of gauze dressing lying discarded nearby. Her head snapped back as she confirmed her suspicion that it had been soaked in chloroform.
She spun quickly and trained her weapon toward the house, at the sound of a loud thump against the living room windows and the distinct sound of fighting from inside.
"Oh my God, Tony," she uttered.
She sprinted for the front door and pushed away similar and still painful memories of Michael Rivkin's last moments.
Reaching the door, she placed the barrel of her gun against the lock and was about to pull the trigger when she remembered she had seen the locks earlier that evening. They had been reinforced specifically to withstand gunfire. She slammed her hand angrily against the door and removed her lock pick, working as quickly as her plaster cast and slightly trembling fingers allowed. She stifled a loud gasp and felt her blood run cold as a gunshot sounded from inside the house. Viciously suppressing thoughts of her partner lying dead on the floor, she focussed her attention on the locks.
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Tony was gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. He scrambled across the living room floor on his stomach. His outstretched hands, desperately seeking the slick, metal gun. His progress was halted and he bit back a yell as his assailant landed a brutal kick above Tony's right kidney. A surge of pain and adrenalin gave him the strength to force his sluggish body to move. He quickly rolled onto his back, kicking out blindly with everything he had.
The intruder screamed and reeled back in agony. The force of Tony's kick caused the man's knee to hyperextend, tearing the crucial ligament. The momentary respite was long enough. Tony rolled back onto his stomach to continue to search for the gun. He felt the heat of the still warm gun barrel and he wrapped his long fingers tightly around the grip.
He heard the lumbering approach as the badly limping assailant returned.
'This is it. Kill or be killed.' Tony thought.
Turning quickly, Tony pointed the gun in the direction of the approaching footsteps.
"I have the gun," he rasped, barely recognising his own voice. "Stop or I'll shoot."
The heavy footsteps continued to approach as the assailant stood poised to crush Tony's skull with a ferocious swing of the baseball bat.
Ziva appeared in the doorway, willing her eyes to adjust quickly to the darkness. She saw the vague outline of one man standing over another.
"Tony!" she yelled.
The guttural groan of his assailant signalled the start of the bat's downward arc. The muzzle of the gun flashed repeatedly as Tony, placed four bullets in the chest of the intruder, eerily reminiscent of Rivkin's death. The man fell heavily across Tony's lower body but was dead before he hit the ground.
Tony allowed his body to fall back against the floor - every vestige of adrenalin and energy drained from his system. His legs were pinned by the weight of the dead man but he lacked the energy to climb out from under him. His chest heaved from the exertion and his body trembled with shock and pain. He'd been in more life and death struggles than he could count but never before had he been unable to use his eyes. He was completely spent.
"Tony?" Ziva called.
She flicked the light switch several times before realising the power must have been cut. As she ran to the window, she quickly drew back the curtains, bathing the room in the subdued glow from a nearby streetlight.
She ensured the intruder was dead then rolled his body and freed Tony's legs. She grabbed a light afghan from the couch and kneeled beside him. Tony was nearly unconscious and for a terrifying moment she thought he might have been shot. She checked him quickly for serious injuries before wrapping the afghan around him.
"Tony? Tony, talk to me," she urged. "Can you hear me?"
"Ziva?" Tony whispered, as he tried to draw breath into his lungs.
"I am here, Tony. You must lie still, try to slow your breathing."
"Ziva?"
"Shh, just rest. Wait until you get your breath back."
Tony shook his head determinedly.
"No, can't…can't wait," he gasped. "Have…have to know."
"What is it Tony? What is so important that it can't wait?"
"Please tell me that wasn't your new boyfriend."
She bit back a grin and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. 'Leave it to Tony to make a joke about something that had hurt them both so deeply,' she thought.
"No, Tony, he was not my new boyfriend."
"Oh, thank God," he said with a crooked grin. His expression suddenly became serious and he turned his bloodied face in her direction. "What made you come back?"
"That is what partners do, yes?"
"Yes," he said, before dropping his head back against her thigh. "Yes, it is."
Exhaustion and sleep claimed him in less than a minute and she didn't have the heart to disturb him. For a brief moment, she watched him sleep, thankful that they would have the chance to repair their tempestuous relationship.
She reached for her cell to call in an agent involved shooting, when the roar of an engine and the screech of tyres in the driveway alerted her to Gibbs and McGee's arrival. She placed Tony's head on a pillow and whispered when he stirred.
"Lie still, I will be right back."
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She opened the door and met Gibbs charging up the front steps.
"The situation is contained, Tony will be fine," she said, still unsure of her standing with the lead agent.
"Where is he?" he asked gruffly.
"He was exhausted and fell asleep. I did not want to wake him. He has a bad cut above one eye and some bruises. We will need Ducky, the man is dead."
"You killed him?" Gibbs asked.
"I wish I had," she replied flatly. "Tony killed him."
Gibbs paused for a moment, wondering how a blind and unarmed DiNozzo managed to kill his assailant. Knowing he wouldn't rest until he saw the younger man with his own eyes, Gibbs walked into the house, turning the power main on and grabbing the first aid bag as he went.
"I will assist McGee."
"You're still on suspension and medical leave til Monday," Gibbs replied bluntly. His eyes softened a little and he added. "We could use the help."
She nodded and left the room.
Gibbs walked into his living room and silently assessed his agent's condition. Tony's face was calm in sleep but alarmingly pale; the dried and congealed blood that streaked his face added a gruesome look. The deep split in his eyebrow would more than likely need stitches and had already caused the eyelid to bruise and swell closed.
Gibbs ignored the protest of his knees and squatted beside his agent, reaching forward to nudge his shoulder.
"Hey, Tony," he said in a rare gentle tone. When the younger man stirred but didn't wake he tried again. "DiNozzo, you with me?"
"Mon your sixsh, Bosh," came the sleepy reply.
"Need to getcha off the floor so I can take a look at you. Think you can get up?"
"I'm on the floor?" Tony asked in surprise.
"Yep."
"Oh, skinda comfortable…" he said snuggling under the blanket.
"Hey, no sleeping! I'm gonna help you to the couch, you ready."
"Mm ready," Tony said, wincing as his facial expressions aggravated his split eyebrow. "Ow!"
"Easy, you got yourself a shiner," he said, helping Tony to his feet and steadying him as he swayed dangerously. "You hurt anywhere I should know about?"
"S'quicker to tell you where I don't hurt," Tony mumbled.
He helped Tony to the couch and reached into the first aid bag. He shook and snapped an instant icepack into action, placed it in Tony's hand and guided it over his swollen eye.
"Hold that there until I get something to clean you up," he told the younger man.
"Boss, you know who he was?" Tony asked quietly.
Gibbs took a long hard look at the face of the man who had almost killed his agent. He didn't recognise him. As this was one time Ducky wouldn't have to determine the cause of death, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and quickly checked his pockets for ID. With the exception of a packet of gum, car keys and a spare clip, the man was clean and they would have to wait until he was officially identified.
"Don't know the face and there's no ID," he replied. "Have to wait til we get his prints."
Gibbs returned from the kitchen a few moments later with a bowl of warm water and some clean towels. Tony sighed and dropped the icepack onto the couch.
"Something on your mind?" Gibbs asked.
"It's not right," Tony complained. "A man comes to kill you, he could at least tell you his name or carry some ID. It's kinda rude."
"Ya think there's some kinda etiquette?" Gibbs asked casually, "Just be glad he didn't get what he came for."
He tilted Tony's head toward the light so he could he could get a closer look at the split eyebrow.
"Hope Ducky packed his sewing kit," the former Marine said.
"Oh no, Boss, not stitches again."
"Fraid so, it's deep."
Tony started to squirm under the lead agent's ministrations, hissing, squeaking and gasping as Gibbs cleaned the wound with an antiseptic swipe.
"Sit still before I knock ya down and sit on ya?" Gibbs threatened.
"I must say your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, Jethro," Ducky said as he and Palmer enter the living room. "Perhaps you'll allow me to take a look at our young man?"
"He's all yours, Duck," Gibbs replied, surrendering his position to the elderly ME.
"Mister Palmer, would you be so kind as to attend to our other guest while I see to Anthony?"
"Yes, of course, Doctor Mallard," Jimmy said. "I'll get the gurney."
Jimmy gave Tony a friendly slap on the shoulder as he passed, relieved and pleased that his friend had survived another close call.
"Thank God, you arrived when you did, Ducky," Tony whispered conspiratorially. "The boss isn't exactly known for his gentle touch. Well…maybe with the ladies…I mean, you know, four wives…why do you think the ladies find him so attractive, anyway? The haircut? The clothes, I mean, come on!"
"Er…Anthony," Ducky said nervously.
Tony grimaced. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"
"Yep," Gibbs said with a hint of laughter evident in his voice.
"Look at that! That guy must have hit me harder than I thought, Boss, cos I'm saying crazy things again!"
Gibbs watched in amusement as Tony tensed and waited for a head slap.
"Ah, Jethro, perhaps you could administer that head slap after I make sure Anthony hasn't suffered another concussion. Hmm?"
"I'll be with McGee if you need me," the lead agent said as he strode from the room.
"Thanks, Ducky, you're a life saver," Tony whispered.
"I'm afraid the vast majority of my regular patients would disagree with you on that point, my dear boy," Ducky chuckled.
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Gibbs found McGee sitting with Purcell and Brunner on the back landing. The two agents looking a little green but none the worse for wear after their encounter with the chloroform.
"You two alright?" Gibbs asked.
"Yes, Sir," they replied simultaneously.
"What the hell happened?"
"As we were just telling McGee, everything was quiet. Agent David was the only visitor after you left. We maintained our radio checks at 15 minute intervals according to SOP's," Purcell explained.
"He must have been hiding somewhere in the bushes, watching us. He hit seconds after one of our radio checks. Whoever he was, he was good - he came from behind and I didn't hear or see a thing," Brunner said.
"Same with me, Gibbs, one minute I was doing a radio check and the next thing I remember is waking up in the bushes, trussed like a turkey."
"You said Agent David was here earlier?" Gibbs asked.
"Yes, Agent Gibbs," Purcell said, looking a little uncomfortable. "She came by about 30 minutes after you left, she spoke with Tony and she left, too."
Gibbs nodded. "Protection detail's over; go home, get some rest. I want your reports on my desk by zero ten hundred."
"So…Tony's okay?" Brunner asked before leaving.
"Ducky's checking him over, he'll be fine. Go home."
They watched the agents leave and Gibbs turned to McGee. "Where's Ziva?"
"She's checking the front yard, trying to work out how this guy got the drop on two federal agents."
Gibbs nodded and walked purposefully down the side path. He was not a great communicator, preferring to lead his team by example rather than words. But he had come frighteningly close to losing a team member tonight and nothing concerned Leroy Jethro Gibbs more than the safety of his team.
It was time the young Israeli understood that, although she undoubtedly suffered the most in the Rivkin/Somalia situation – there were other casualties.
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