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 Twenty
Gibbs walked down the side path and into the front yard of his house. He found Ziva checking the area with a flashlight.
"What you got?" he asked.
"Footprints," she said. "I believe the intruder came over the fence and waited in the bushes for quite a while before making his move."
"What makes you think he was waiting?"
She held up an evidence bag that contained four gum wrappers. "I cannot be certain these are his but if they are, it would indicate that he was hiding there for some time."
Gibbs squinted at the gum wrappers. "They're his."
"How can you be sure?"
"Found a matching packet of gum in his pocket. We'll have Abby run the prints anyway," Gibbs said. "Why do you think he waited?"
"Perhaps he was waiting for the cover of darkness or for the right time to take out the protection detail?"
"Could have been waiting for Tony's visitor to leave," he suggested, continuing when she avoided meeting his eyes. "Were you gonna tell me that you were here earlier?"
"Yes…no…I do not know."
"Ziva?"
"I did not tell you because it did not go well. I knew you would be angry that Tony was upset."
"Ya think?" Gibbs asked. "So, you didn't get the response you expected?"
"I expected Tony to blame me for his blindness," she replied honestly. "I did not expect him to re-hash matters concerning my father and Somalia."
"He doesn't blame you for his blindness, Ziva," Gibbs assured.
"It does not matter. No one could blame me more than I blame myself, Gibbs," she said solemnly. "Not even you."
"He's still carrying a whole lotta hurt from the situation with Rivkin and Somalia."
Ziva dropped her head and stared at a fixed point on the ground, unable to meet the intense blue gaze.
"As am I," she replied softly.
"Ziva…when we heard you were dead…no one wanted to avenge you more than Tony. Hell, the whole Somalia op was his idea!"
She lifted her head and he saw the conflict in her eyes.
"A lotta things were said in anger back then…a lotta lies and painful accusations," Gibbs recalled. "No one can keep those feelings buried forever - not even DiNozzo."
Obviously uncomfortable broaching the subject, he cleared his throat before he continued.
"Only you know the hell you endured in Somalia but...just so you know…you weren't the only one who suffered."
"I wanted to help him, Gibbs, I did not come here to argue with him."
He took another deep breath and exhaled loudly. "He may be facing a life without sight, Ziva. You wanna help him, you need to cut him some slack – take one for the team - just like he did for you."
"That is why I came back tonight, to speak with him," she said. "To make things right between us."
"There's been a lotta hurt - 's gonna take awhile to make things right between you."
"I am aware of that...I can wait," she looked at him uncertainly and he nodded his head.
"You're back on light duties on Monday."
"Yes," she replied. "Am I still on your team?"
"Did the director tell you otherwise?"
"No, I just thought that after…"
"You thought I'd cut you from the team."
"Yes," she answered truthfully.
"Competitiveness among team mates hones skills, keeps people sharp - but shouldn't come at the expense of teamwork and should never cross into insubordination."
"I do not think that I…"
Gibbs raised his voice slightly to cut-off her protest.
"I got no problem with the banter in the office – DiNozzo dishes it out, he has to cop it sweet. But if you're going to make it past probie on my team you need to follow the chain of command - that means heeding Tony's or any other senior agent's orders, especially in the field. We clear?"
"Yes, Gibbs, we are clear."
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
Gibbs and Ziva walked back into the living room in time to see McGee and Palmer walking down the stairs.
"Where's DiNozzo?" he asked.
"Guest room, Boss," McGee replied. "We just helped Ducky get him upstairs."
"He fell asleep on the couch, Doctor Mallard thought he'd be more comfortable in his bed," Palmer added.
Gibbs glanced up the stairs to the guest room door then dragged his attention back to the living room.
"What do we know about the shooter?"
"Livescan fingerprint scanner identified him as Russell Carney, former Marine who was medically discharged approximately 4 years ago," McGee replied.
"Any connection to DiNozzo?"
"Not that I know of. I have Abby pulling his service record and I'll run a more in depth background check when I get back to the office...that's if you don't need me, Boss."
"Go – both of you, there's nothing more to be done here tonight."
"We don't know if Carney was working alone," McGee said. "Should I call the director about another protection detail?"
"Last one didn't help much," Gibbs said with a casual shrug.
"Boss, we don't know why this guy was after Tony. It could have been a hit or there could be a contract out on him. What if there's another attempt?"
"This was not a hit, McGee," Ziva said. "A professional hit man would have been better prepared and would not have failed."
"Ziva's right," Gibbs agreed. "This was personal."
"Still doesn't mean Carney was working alone," McGee repeated.
"We'll be fine," Gibbs replied. The determined look in his eye and the set of his jaw, left McGee in no doubt that the team leader was ready for anything. "Go, call me when you've got something on Carney."
"Right, Boss."
Gibbs and Ziva exchanged a knowing glance and a nod before she followed McGee through the door and Gibbs closed it behind them. Walking back toward the staircase he found Palmer standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room, not sure what to do with himself.
"So…here we are…alone at last!" Palmer said, laughing nervously at his own attempt at levity.
"I'll be with Ducky," Gibbs scowled as he climbed the stairs.
Jimmy grimaced. He'd come along way from the jittery young man who even McGee could intimidate - and who'd have thought that he'd become quite good friends with Tony, in and out of work. He wondered what it was about Leroy Jethro Gibbs that made him so nervous that he spoke before he engaged his brain. Sure, there was the steely gaze that penetrated his very soul, the "take no prisoners" attitude, the "mess with me and die" facial expression…okay, so maybe he did know why it was that, after nearly five years, Gibbs could still cower him with a withering look.
Gibbs stopped on the landing and looked at the young ME pacing the living room and looking decidedly uneasy.
"Jimmy," he called. "There's soda in the fridge, help yourself."
Palmer wore a smile like a split watermelon at the use of his first name.
"Don't mind if I do, Jethro!" he replied. "I…I mean…Agent Jethro… Gibbs…Agent Gibbs!"
The aforementioned withering look appeared on the former Marine's face and as he continued on to the guest room. Palmer melted into the couch, dropped his head into his hands and groaned in embarrassment.
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
Ducky was fluffing the pillows and straightening the comforter when Gibbs entered the guest room and regarded the younger man's supine form with thinly veiled concern. His agent was sprawled across the bed, his head propped up and his lips slightly parted in sleep. The swelling of his injured eye had increased substantially, stretching the badly discoloured skin tightly across his eye socket. It contrasted sharply against his blanched skin and the stark white butterfly clips applied to his lacerated eyebrow.
"Geez, Duck!" Gibbs exclaimed. "Looks like he's gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson!"
"Mike Tyson? Oh my word, no! I am happy to advise that Anthony still has both his ears!" Ducky chortled. "He is, however, suffering from exhaustion and a rather nasty orbital ecchymosis."
Gibbs frowned, causing Ducky to add.
"A black eye, my friend, and a rather spectacular one, I must say!"
Tony hadn't stirred despite the movement and the conversation around him.
"You sedate him?" Gibbs asked, surprised as Ducky gave a little chuckle.
"I didn't have to. He had already pushed himself well beyond his limitations before we got here! He expended his last drop of energy with all that bluff and bravado he performed downstairs."
"Didn't fool you either, huh?"
"Does he ever?" Ducky asked. "One minute he was talking to Mr Palmer and the next he was out like a light. Extraordinary thing to see - the poor lad, fell asleep mid-sentence. If I'm not mistaken, I believe it was between the words 'autopsy' and 'gremlin.'"
"Looks uncomfortable," Gibbs said. "Sure he's okay, like that?"
"He needs to keep his head elevated, it will help reduce the swelling," Ducky replied.
"It ain't working, Duck."
"Yes, well…the ice pack you applied would have helped if he had stayed awake long enough to use it. He also has some rather nasty bruises on his ribs and a boot print on his lower back that he conveniently forgot to mention."
"Any sign of head injury?"
"Not that I could detect, other than that glorious shiner, of course," Ducky replied. "I took the liberty of contacting Anthony's neurologist, Dr Colby, and explained what had occurred."
"And?"
"He has rescheduled Anthony's next appointment from next week to 3pm tomorrow, however, he did stress that should Anthony's condition deteriorate you will need to bring him in immediately. Rest and sleep are the best things for him now, we'll know more once he has met with Dr Colby."
"Thanks, Duck."
Both men watched as the younger man slept on, completely insensate.
"You know, Jethro, we were extraordinarily lucky not to lose him tonight. Do we know why that man targeted Anthony?"
"McGee and Abby are working on it."
"This young man has always shown a propensity for beating the odds and I must say turning off the power was a masterstroke - but how on earth did he manage to disarm and overpower an armed assailant?"
Gibbs cocked his head as his lips quirked in a proud smile.
"He's scrappy!"
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
Gibbs lifted the coffee pot to pour another mug of coffee and grimaced at the burnt sludge that had accumulated at the bottom. Muttering a soft curse under his breath, he started a fresh pot and glanced at his watch. It was almost 2100 – it had been a long day and was likely to be a long night.
He had periodically walked the perimeter of his home – front and back – his trained eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. He had checked on Tony several times since Ducky and Palmer left, each time he'd found the younger man sleeping deeply.
When the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and sipped the rich blend as he looked out over the back landing. Though he'd been anticipating the call, when it finally came, the shrill of his cell startled him.
"Gibbs."
"Gibbs how's Tony?" Abby asked, her voice filled with concern.
"He's sleeping, Abs, he'll be fine."
"Oh my God, when I think of what could have happened I just – no, no, no - think positive thoughts and send happy vibes," she told herself. "Tony's alive and he's sleeping and he's gonna be fine…please tell me he's gonna be fine, Gibbs!"
"I just did, Abs."
"You did? Oh…right, you did. I'm sorry, Gibbs, I'm just, like, in total disbelief that anyone would want to hurt Tony when he's so vulnerable and helpless - let alone try to kill him!"
"The body in Ducky's morgue should tell ya that DiNozzo is anything but helpless."
Silence abounded as Abby's brilliant mind attempted to accept the reality of that statement.
"Abs?"
"That's right! I mean…about Tony not being helpless cos he, like, totally took care of business even though he couldn't see! That was, like, wow! I mean, Tony's always known how to take care of himself but how'd he do that Gibbs?"
"When you see him you can ask him," Gibbs said. "In the meantime, what can you tell me about Russell Carney."
"Oh, right, I'll put you on speaker so you can talk to McGee."
"Boss?" McGee's voice sounded down the line. "We did a background check on Russell Carney. He was born in Baltimore, orphaned at age 7 and placed in the foster care system. He joined the Marines the day after his 18th birthday. According to Social Services, Carney had behavioural problems and was never at one home longer than 8 months. I'm having the records sent over."
"Priors?"
"Nothing major, graffiti, shop-lifting and using a fake ID – all before he joined the Corps."
"Service record?"
"Exemplary," McGee said. "Served in the Marines for 14 years, did two tours of the Gulf and was medically discharged four years ago when he badly broke his right knee. His last known address was in civilian housing in the International Zone in Baghdad where he's been working as a security consultant for a civilian contractor for 3 years."
"You talk to his employer? Find out why he came back?"
"His employer, Jim Matheson, said Carney quit and returned to the US to attend to funeral of family member but our enquiries show no living relatives. I got the feeling Matheson was relieved Carney was gone, Boss, he'd had suspicions of him dealing with rebel factions but could never prove anything."
"Dealing what?"
"That's just it, Boss, it wasn't anything he could put his finger. Matheson said that Carney's job required him to make frequent return trips from Iraq to the US. Several times, right after he'd returned from the US, Carney had been seen speaking with known dissidents outside of the IZ. His employer approached him several times but he always had a plausible excuse."
"When did he get back in the country?"
"According to Immigration he returned to the US ten days ago."
"Any connections to DiNozzo?"
"The only obvious link I can find is that they both lived in Baltimore for a while."
"Timing's wrong," Gibbs replied. "Carney enlisted in the Corps 18 years ago, Tony transferred to Baltimore PD 11 years ago. Stay on it, let me know when you have something."
"On it, Boss," McGee replied, a fraction after Gibbs had disconnected the call.
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
Gibbs kept up the perimeter checks, despite his gut feeling that the danger was over - until he knew for sure, he would not risk his agent's life. The sound of movement from upstairs echoed in the stillness of the house. Gibbs' eyes narrowed and he climbed the stairs stealthily, flicking off the safety on his Sig Sauer has he went. He followed the sound into the guest bathroom and found Tony fumbling through the bathroom cabinet with one hand while the other was pressed firmly against his left temple. Even in the half-light Gibbs could see pinched expression and hear the ragged breathing.
"You okay?" he said softly, so as not to startle the younger man.
" S'nothin, Boss," he answered in a raspy voice.
"Look's like something."
"Headache."
"Bad?"
Tony closed his one good eye and responded with a reluctant and barely perceptible nod of his head. The rare admission drove the team leader's concern several notches higher and he moved into position, nudging Tony gently with the elbow of his guide arm.
"Come on," he said. "Sit down before you fall down."
Tony loosely gripped Gibbs' arm and allowed himself to be led back into the guest room. A sudden wave of vertigo rushed over him and caused him to stumble heavily into the former Marine.
"Hey, you with me?" Gibbs asked, scrutinising his agent's ashen complexion as he manhandled him onto the bed.
"I…I'm with ya, Boss," Tony replied in a barely audible whisper. "Just…need a minute."
"I'll get your meds."
He walked back into the bathroom, removed the cap from the bottle of pain meds and shook two into the palm of his hand. Filling a glass with water, he returned to the guest room to find Tony was leaning back against the bed head and breathing deeply and slowly to quell the dizziness.
Gibbs placed the pills in one of Tony's hands and watched as he wrapped his trembling fingers around the glass. Mindful of respecting the very definite personal boundaries the independent younger man had in place, Gibbs placed his own hand over Tony's. His agent tensed for a moment but Gibbs was grateful when the younger man relaxed and accepted the help. When Tony had washed down the meds, Gibbs placed the glass on the bedside table.
"Is it morning, Boss?"
Gibbs expelled a long breath before answering – he couldn't imagine there would ever come a time when his gut wouldn't painfully contract upon hearing those words.
"It's twenty-three hundred, Tony."
"Oh." Came the unreadable reply.
"Hold still, I'm gonna check your eye," Gibbs said, using the injury as a way to surreptitiously check for signs of fever.
"How's it look?" Tony asked quietly.
"To quote Ducky – spectacular. Hold still."
Tony's skin was cold and clammy, his teeth were chattering and fine tremors continued to run through his body. The lines of pain on Tony's face and the request for meds, left Gibbs in no doubt that his agent was in considerable discomfort but the former Marine was no stranger to the signs of delayed shock. He retrieved another blanket from the linen cupboard and spread it over the bed.
"Want me to call Colby?"
"No, s'just a headache, it'll probably be gone by morning," he replied softly to avoid aggravating the headache from hell.
Moments later, when the meds had begun take effect and the tremors stilled, Tony relaxed deeply into the pillows.
"Boss…do we know who he was?"
"Russell Carney, former Marine, 14 years in the Corps. Spent the last three working for a civilian security contractor in Afghanistan."
"Marine…you sure he wasn't after you, Boss? It would be just my luck to get killed by mistake!" Tony quipped then, suddenly serious, he asked. "What's the connection, why's he after me?"
"McGee and Abby are on it. You know the name?"
"Carney…busted a Patrick Carney when I was in Philly but I heard he died while he was inside, some kind of prison riot."
"Relative?"
"Not sure, had to be 12 years ago," Tony said, rubbing at his temples to ease the persistent headache. He exhaled loudly.
"Something else on your mind?"
"Just wish I knew the connection…I killed a man tonight and I don't know why!"
"You killed a man, who was trying to kill you…you did what had to be done. You did…a hell of a job."
"Thanks, Boss," he whispered unconvincingly. He allowed his eyes to close but the deeply furrowed brow told Gibbs his agent wasn't ready for sleep just yet.
"Purcell and Brunner okay?"
"They're fine," Gibbs replied.
"So, who drew the short straw and got to be our new protection detail?"
"Me."
That got his attention and his right eye snapped open in surprise.
"No offence, Boss, but do you think that's smart? I mean, what if there's more than one guy? I have been known to piss off more than my fair share of people."
"Ya think?" Gibbs asked, amusement colouring his words.
Gibbs noted the rare uncertainty and anxiousness in the younger man's expression and knew that the battle with Carney had shaken him more than he'd let on – hell, a fight with an armed assailant would rattle anyone – he could only imagine the terror of not being able to see your opponent in a fight to the death.
"This wasn't a professional hit. Seemed more personal, Carney was more than likely working alone."
"We don't know that! They've already tried three times and whoever they are, they seem pretty freakin' determined to kill me," Tony laughed humourlessly.
"They want you…they'll have to get past me," he replied with a steely determination that left the younger man in no doubt that his team leader was prepared to lay down his life to protect him.
The green eyes may have been sightless but the silent gratitude they reflected was unmistakable. Tony swallowed convulsively, trying and failing to speak around the huge lump that settled uncomfortably in his throat. He hoped like hell that Gibbs had heard his unspoken, words and knew his silent message had been received loud and clear, when the former Marine gently clipped him under the chin.
"Get some sleep," he said.
Tony felt the mattress move and listened to the sound of Gibbs walking from the room and down the stairs. He felt his body relax, knowing his Boss had his six, and allowed his exhaustion and the meds to usher him back into sleep.
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
Abby came crashing down from her Caf-Pow high at about 0200 and while she was more than happy to drink another carton or two and go the distance, McGee insisted that she lay down on her futon for a few hours sleep. Besides, with Abby snoozing comfortably, he was free to release some of his pent up aggravation and anxiety.
So far, the background information on Russell Carney had been frustrating and painstakingly slow. The records kept by Social Services for the eleven years Carney was a ward of the state, were sketchy at best. He had thought about hauling Keating's ass in to help – but Keating didn't know Tony like he did. If there was a connection to Tony somewhere in the mess of papers and computer searches, then he was damned sure that he would be the one who would find it.
His cell rang and he snatched it up before it disturbed Abby and quickly walked to the ballistics room to take the call. His eyes widened and his brain kicked into high gear when the caller identified himself as Major Samuel Thomas. Major Thomas was leading a coalition task force that had recently raided and arrested a well-known and well-funded rebel faction, involved in several roadside bombings. During the interrogation of these men, Russell Carney had been named as one of the providers of C-4. The major had tracked Carney to his former place of employment and his former boss had provided McGee's contact details.
The major was able to provide McGee with the number of an account from which as much as fifty thousand dollars had been paid to Carney. McGee agreed to assist the major to locate Carney's supplier and was filled with renewed vigour as he flicked his cell closed and disconnected the call.
After verifying the credentials of the major and the taskforce, McGee accessed the banking records and noted that five, ten thousand-dollar payments had been made to Carney's account. The day after each payment, five thousand dollars had been withdrawn and transferred elsewhere.
McGee knew that Carney had to be sourcing the C-4 from the US on his frequent trips home. He also knew that it was not impossible for a frequent traveller on these freighter flights to circumnavigate the security procedures and smuggle something aboard. He began to trace the transferred funds, in the hope that it would lead him straight to Carney's source.
By 0400, his program had been running for over an hour and there was nothing he could do but wait for it to complete it's search. Fatigue seemed to hit him suddenly, his head began to droop and his eyelids grew heavy, so he closed his eyes for just a moment.
"McGee!" Abby shouted, almost causing the young agent to topple from the stood on which he was precariously perched.
As bleary, blue eyes blinked away the sleep and confusion, he saw her standing, hands on hips, eyes squinted and her mouth set in a straight line. Even with a still sleep-addled mind, McGee knew Abby was not pleased.
"Good morning to you, too, Abby," he replied.
"Don't good morning me, Mister!" she admonished.
"What's going on? I was sleeping here, Abs!"
"That's right," she said, reaching into a draw and removing a mirror, she held it in front of McGee's face.
McGee grimaced at the odd angle of several clumps of hair and his red-rimmed eyes but it was the sight of multiple small squares, deeply imprinted into his face that caused him the most embarrassment.
"You fell asleep on my keyboard again!" she accused. "I warned you about this, Mister!"
"Abs," McGee said, looking at the monitor of the computer.
"Your excessive drool has already cost me two laptops!"
"Abs."
"Director Vance will probably summon me to his office to explain why I have such a high turnover of computer equipment!"
"Abs!" he said loudly, snapping her from her admonishing rant. "Abs, I got it! The, the, the trace and the connection to Tony, I got it!"
"What? Really?" She threw her arms around him, knowing how hard he had been working to wrap this case up for Gibbs and Tony. "I'm so proud of you Timmy, although - just so you know - this doesn't mean you're off the hook for the drooling. Don't just stand there - show me what you've got!"
McGee explained the call he'd received from Major Thomas and the trace he's started on the funds transferred from Carney's bank account. After being re-routed across the globe through several major banking systems, the funds had arrived at their final destination – the account of Master Sergeant Guy Briggs.
"Our mad bomber?" Abby asked. "The man that set the bomb that hurt Tony?"
"One and the same," McGee said. "We discovered that Briggs had been stealing C-4 that was designated for destruction from Quantico, right? He never gave us the chance to question him and find out what he'd been doing with it. Looks like he'd been supplying it to Carney who'd been smuggling it to Iraq and selling it to rebel factions."
"And that's the link to Tony!" Abby said. "Wait…Tony didn't kill Briggs. You and Ziva took the shots that killed him."
"But Tony was lead investigator on the case and that was well-documented. Wouldn't have been too hard for Carney to access that information."
"Isn't it a little extreme for Carney to go after Tony - a Federal agent - just because his business partner was killed?"
"You're right," McGee agreed. "There has to be a bigger connection between these two. They were both Marines, right? Maybe they served together – you take Carney and I'll take Briggs and we'll cross-reference their assignments and deployments."
"You got it!"
They worked furiously at their keyboards, bringing up the service records for the former Marines when McGee stopped and turned toward Abby with a concerned look on his face.
"Really, Abs? Excessive drool?"
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
"So that's the connection, Boss," McGee said. "Abby and I dug a little deeper and found that Carney's last and his longest foster placement was with the Briggs family. That's where he met Guy Briggs. They must have been close because they enlisted in the Marines together, they completed basic training at Parris Island together and they remained close for the rest of their lives."
"That's a good job, Tim," Gibbs said, stretching the kinks out of his aching back. "Go hit the rack, take the rest of the day - the paperwork can wait."
"Thanks, Boss, how's Tony feeling this morning?"
"Haven't seen him yet. He had a rough night, so I let him sleep in."
McGee looked at his watch and saw it was only 0615. He wondered how the former Marine could consider that a sleep in when the roosters were still wiping the sleep from their eyes.
"I have an appointment at 1730. Ask Palmer to come and stay with Tony for an hour or so."
"I'll do it, Boss," McGee said. "Abby really wants to make sure Tony's in one piece after last night, so we'll see you about 1700."
He ended the call and the sound of movement from upstairs prompted Gibbs to start a fresh pot of coffee and start breakfast. He was reaching for Tony's Cheerios when he heard his agent call to him.
"Boss…Boss!"
The call was casual but there was an element of panic in the tone that had Gibbs halfway up the stairs before he realised he'd left the kitchen. He hit the upper landing running and burst into the guest room.
Tony was sitting on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and the heels of his hands crushing against his temples. A tidal wave of agony engulfed him and he gritted his teeth and locked his jaw to silence the groan that was building in his throat.
"Tony?" Gibbs said, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder and surprised at the calmness of his own voice.
"Boss," he gasped. "I think I need to go to the hospital."
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00