Chapter 11

McGee groaned. He was tied to the chair again. His eyesight was blurry, and he couldn't focus very well. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he had a hard time holding it up.

"Okay, Probie. Today's the day. I know that you've hacked into the FBI before."

"Yes, once or twice," he mumbled.

"I need you to get into this file number and delete it."

"Delete it? Why?" McGee asked, momentarily forgetting about asking questions.

The punch nearly knocked the chair over again. "Don't ask questions, Probie. Just do it."

"I can't."

"I will not accept your excuses." The man punched him again; this time the chair fell over. Tim hit his head on the floor. Stars danced in front of his eyes as blackness crept in. Suddenly, he felt pressure on his broken ribs and the pain cleared his vision. "You'll do it, Probie, or there's no reason to keep you alive."

"I'll do it! I'll do it," Tim screamed and the man righted the chair.

"Then, get on it." He stalked away and started talking to someone else. Tim could hear him arguing, but he couldn't hear any responses. He must be on a phone.

"I don't care. I'm in charge now. You passed up on my offer once. If you want them, you'll do it my way. Otherwise, you can find another source, and I have the power to make that difficult. Right, at the end of the pool. I'm not fooling around here. You're not there, your loss." Suddenly, he was right at Tim's ear. "Are you working, Probie?"

"Yes, yes. I'm working," he answered. The man clouted him on the head. The chair wobbled dangerously. Then, he walked away.

Working more slowly than ever, Tim tried to focus on the screen. The words kept swimming out of focus. He was having a hard time thinking at all, let alone getting through the FBI's security. He'd done it before, yes, but that was when he was at his best and not facing imminent death. Tim had resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably die before Gibbs would find him, if he was even looking for him. He just wished that death would come sooner rather than later. He hurt so much. He looked vacantly at the monitor, not really seeing anything. Suddenly, he realized what he'd been staring at: a webcam. It was attached to the monitor. It wasn't on at the moment. Tim reached out to touch it and see if it was real. His captor noticed the movement knocked him onto the floor again. This time, he untied the ropes and threw the chair away.

"You want to be famous, Probie? I can do that for you." He reached over and turned on the webcam again. He pulled Tim over to the wall again, tied his hands together and pulled him up to the hook. He began to hit him as hard as possible. All Tim could do was moan. He didn't have the energy to scream. "Is this what you want, Probie? Is it?"

"No, no," he whispered.

"Fine. You stay there until you're ready to be helpful again. This is your last chance, Probie. One more screw up and I'm done trying to be nice." The man turned and walked away.

Tim willed himself to pass out, to get away from the agony, but it wasn't working. He looked toward the webcam which was still on. He whispered over and over again, "Help me. I can't fight him anymore." His head dropped.

"Come on, Tim. Give me something," Abby said to the monitor, tears in her eyes. Ducky had his arms around her shoulders. Watching him sag, Abby began to fear that she was going to have to actually watch him die. Then, he struggled to stand upright again. He looked blearily off the screen and then back to the camera.

"Gibbs, Abby... anyone," His voice was choked with tears. "FBI file: 65D...297...0EH." Tim stopped, gasping for a minute. "I think. I don't know. Can't remember anymore." He paused again and sagged. Then, he pushed himself upright again. "Check Dobson. There's more..." he trailed off looking warily at the man returning to the room. "Find me, please," he begged.

"Are you ready to help me, Probie?"

"Yes." It came out as a sob.

"Good." The webcam went off again.

"I can't stand this, Ducky."

"I know, Abby. Does that number mean anything to you?"

"No. I'll look it up though." When she did so, it came up empty. The number was wrong. "Nothing."

"Can you find the file from the numbers you have?"

"I don't know. It's alphanumeric and there are tons of possible combinations, assuming that he got the numbers and letters themselves correct. If any of them are wrong, that adds more possibilities."

"But you can try?" Ducky asked gently.

"Yes. I can try."

"Good. That's all you need to do."