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Chapter 6: Help
McGee nearly dropped to the mud with exhaustion and relief when he finally stood on solid ground. It wasn't raining yet, but the heavy mist in the air made the ground slick as it mixed with the loose dirt. He pulled his cell phone open and began to watch for a signal, knowing the chances were slim. He cursed and headed for the house, hopeful to find a landline. A quick search in the mostly likely areas—living room, bedroom, kitchen—were unrewarding, so McGee hurried out the front door and trotted to Tony's car, grabbing the car keys from his pants pocket as he ran. He started the engine, threw the car into reverse, and pushed the accelerator to the floor, constantly watching his phone for a signal.
About two miles up the muddy road, one bar flickered on his phone. "Come on . . . come on . . . ," he chanted, waiting for a solid signal. When the bar finally stopped blinking McGee slammed on the brakes and leaped out of the car. The phone jumped to two full bars, and began to silently signal all his missed calls, voice mails, and unread texts, preventing him from dialing out. "Not now!" he yelled, shaking the phone in frustration. Finally he punched in his number one contact: Gibbs. Tony would need an airlift, and Gibbs could make it happen faster than any 9-1-1 dispatcher on the planet.
"It's about damn time you checked in!" Gibbs barked into the phone, his voiced hardened with both irritation and anxiety.
"Boss, Tony's hurt. He needs an airlift. I had to put a tourniquet on his leg, Gibbs. A tourniquet! At 16:13. God, that's half an hour already! I have to get back to him."
"Where are you?" Gibbs mashed the gas pedal to the floor.
"We're still at the grandparents' farm outside Berryville. We'll be under what used to be a barn—before the bomb. I marked the way with Xs. I put a rock on a Nutter Butter wrapper where I came out, but I'll put Tony's jacket there when I go back in." McGee's voice teetered on the edge of breaking. "I-I-I have to get back to him—there's no cell signal. I had to leave him . . . alone, in the dark. I have to get back. We found Turner, too. He's dead, Boss. And now he's blown to bits."
"We're on our way. We're on 7, ten minutes west of Leesburg. Go take care of him, Tim. Tell him we're coming for him. You tell him that." Gibbs snapped his phone shut and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
"Tony?" Ziva asked anxiously. "He is hurt?"
"It's bad. Call Vance and tell him we need an emergency airlift from Fairfax to the Berryville address. Be sure he lets them know there's a tourniquet on DiNozzo's leg."
Ziva's phone was already open, and she was dialing Vance even as Gibbs continued to talk.
"And tell him to bring in ATF—there was a bomb. He's going to want to contact EOD and SecNav. Then call Ducky and have him drive the van to Berryville with Palmer. McGee said they found Turner's body. I'll call in the locals. If you lose the signal, hang out the window because I'm not stopping."
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*****NCIS*****
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McGee scrambled back to Tony as fast as possible, catching his shoe on a jagged piece of rebar, which pitched him forward onto shards of wood and broken glass. He cursed under his breath and scraped his hands against his pants to free as much of the glass and splinters as possible. The rest could wait. "Help's on the way, Tony! Gibbs is coming for you. Hang in there." When he reached Tony's side, he put down the first aid kit and turned on the powerful roadside emergency light he had brought from the car. He placed the light on a box for better visibility. Tony looked even worse in the harsh ultra-white light.
His friend lay completely silent and still, exactly as McGee had left him. All color had drained from his usually tan complexion. Even his lips appeared almost translucent.
"Tony!" McGee said a little louder, hoping to rouse his friend and offer some hope. McGee stopped the urge to give Tony's shoulder a shake, knowing it would cause him pain. He raised his voice with false bravado. "DiNozzo—Gibbs is coming for you. He's calling for an airlift. It's no Gulfstream, but you'll get to travel in style." The words felt hollow as Tony remained completely unresponsive. Then McGee did give Tony's shoulder a shake, gently at first, then a bit rougher. Still not a wince, not a groan. Not a breath. McGee's stomach dropped and a lump formed in his tightened throat.
Nothing.
McGee stared at the still and bloodied form. Blood continued to sluggishly ooze from the cut on Tony's forehead. McGee's hands began to tremble in the stifling silence.
Silence.
No more breathing.
He reached cautiously to Tony's wrist and felt for a pulse. Tony . . . don't do this . . . don't do this . . . .
Nothing.
The hand felt cold. Limp. Lifeless.
"No . . . God, please no. . . ." McGee whispered. He tried the wrist again, but the only pulse he felt came from the pounding of his own heartbeat. He reached across to Tony's other wrist, and tears began to stream from McGee's eyes, and his breathing hitched.
No pulse.
Tony's words echoed in McGee's mind. CPR doesn't work on people who bleed to death. . . . If it comes to that . . . let me be. . . .
McGee clenched his own bloodied hands into fists and yelled until his voice and throat were raw. The dried arcs of arterial blood splattered against the fallen walls and boxes of the basement stood out like vulgar grimaces, mocking him. Death had taken its claim.
McGee finally bowed his head and let the tears of grief and loss flow down his face in silence.
Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was dead.
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*****NCIS*****
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The world became surreal. McGee sat below tons of rubble with his deceased partner, waiting for help to arrive too late. The basement had become a tomb. It had been a tomb to Sergeant Turner in the freezer for some time. But this was Tony.
First Pacchi, then Kate, Paula, Director Shepard. Mike Franks.
Now Tony.
How could he tell Gibbs that Tony was dead? That Tony died saving Tim's life? Hadn't Gibbs lost enough already? The team would never be the same. Couldn't be. Gibbs was the leader, but Tony had proven time and again to be the heart.
The thought of ever writing a novel again formed a bitter taste in McGee's mouth. Main characters didn't die in his books. But this was real life. No re-writes.
McGee looked at his own bloody hands and the blood-soaked knees of his torn pants. His right wrist, swollen since his fall, throbbed in time to his own rapid pulse. His eyes drifted back to Tony's body, broken and bloodied and silent, his hair white with dust. His face chalky, ashen.
Then Tony's lips moved, followed by a tiny sound—little more than the movement of air. McGee's heart shot into his throat.
"Tony! I'm such an idiot!" he yelled, lunging forward to place his fingers at Tony's neck. The pulse was there. Not strong enough to be felt at the wrist, but definitely there, weak and fast, Tony's breathing shallow and nearly imperceptible. "Thank you, God," McGee whispered, and he began to tear open nearby boxes, looking for anything to help keep Tony alive while they waited for help to arrive.
Finally, McGee found a box of old wool army blankets. He cleared debris from the area next to Tony and shook dead moths and mouse droppings off the first blanket before laying it on the floor. The wool soaked up the water, but he knew that even wet wool would insulate Tony from the cold. Next he placed dry blankets over the bottom layer, working as fast as possible while his own injuries slowed his efforts. He hated to move his partner, but at least he probably wouldn't feel it. Not much, anyway. Maybe. Hopefully.
McGee carefully looked under the suit jacket to check Tony's back, and he cursed at the blood still seeping from the deeper lacerations. He folded gauze pads from the first aid kit and placed them over the worst cuts. He taped them down as well as he could, but the tape resisted sticking to Tony's damp skin. It occurred to McGee that Tony might be better off on his back. His body weight should help stop the bleeding, and he might be able to draw more air in, but McGee knew he couldn't turn Tony without twisting him, and that didn't seem like a good idea. "Dammit!" McGee yelled loudly. He didn't know what to do.
McGee's gently shifted Tony's upper body onto his back on the dry blanket, eliciting a low moan that tore at McGee's heart. "I'm sorry, Tony," he said smoothly, his confidence born anew with the precious signs of life, however fragile. "You're not dying on my watch."
McGee took a deep breath and looked at Tony's injured leg. Supporting the broken bones as well as he could, given his damaged wrist, he gritted his teeth and very slowly and carefully rolled Tony the rest of the way onto his back. McGee blanched at the amount of dried and smeared blood on the senior agent's face from a laceration high on his forehead. As if he hadn't been injured enough. He placed a rolled up wool blanket under Tony's good leg but didn't know what to do with the injured one, so he left it.
He placed his suit jacket back over Tony and covered the jacket with a wool blanket, which he tucked up around Tony's shoulders and sides of his head for added warmth.
Tony's lips moved again. "Gibbs," he whispered, his eyes still closed.
"Gibbs is on the way, Tony," McGee assured him. "He's coming for you."
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*****NCIS*****
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Gibbs plowed his car past Tony's and on through the yard to what remained of the barn. It looked like something he would have seen in Iraq, but this time his boys were somewhere under the mess.
Ziva cursed under her breath in Hebrew, then followed it with quick prayer.
Gibbs opened up his trunk and reached for his backpack. He rummaged through it to make sure his big LED lantern, a headlamp, thick leather gloves, rope, hatchet, and two bottles of water were in it. He strapped on his headlamp and tested the light. He pulled out three flares and handed two of them to Ziva.
Gibbs faced Ziva squarely, and held her by the shoulders, reading her expression. "Listen, Ziva, I know you want to go in there, but I need you out here. Put one flare back at the turn-off for the driveway. Set another one in the front, so the helo can see the yard. Go in the house and turn on any outdoor lights. LEOs, Fire, and Aid will be coming soon, and you know the media won't be far behind." He turned and pointed to the pile of wood and metal that had been the barn. "At least I don't see smoke. I need to get in there before the rescue units arrive, or they'll try to keep me from going in. Let them know McGee marked the way. I'll put this flare outside the entrance point, and I'll try to clear space for a rescue team as I go."
She nodded quickly, biting her lower lip. "Just get him out, Gibbs."
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*****NCIS*****
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Gibbs had to keep his pace slow, even when his mind screamed for him to power through the debris at full speed. He slowed periodically to re-mark the way when he obscured McGee's scratches by making room for the rescue team. Despite the relatively short distance he needed to travel, the pace was painstakingly slow. He heard boards creaking, water dripping, the smell of old hay, and the distinctive smell of ammonia and oil. The taste left in his mouth wasn't as offensive as he remembered, but it still brought back dark memories of Iraq. He had lost friends there, and he was not going to lose Tony. Not today.
"That you, Boss?" McGee's oddly muffled voice finally called out.
"Right here, McGee. Coming in. I can see your light. How's he doing?"
"Still breathing," McGee called back. "Paramedics with you?"
"Soon, McGee. Real soon."
Several minutes later, Gibbs entered the small space where McGee watched over Tony. McGee looked like a figure from a slasher movie. A mix of Tony's dried blood and his own decorated his face, and both his shirt and pants were dark with blood stains.
"He said your name once, Boss."
Gibbs' gut tightened when he saw the arterial spray on the boxes and walls. But a hot shock wave passed through his whole body when he saw Tony. He'd seen it before—overseas—and he had yet to see someone survive it.
"Ah, hell, Tony," he muttered as he knelt beside his right-hand agent. "Medevac is on the way, along with a rescue team. We'll get you out of here soon."
Tony's bloodshot eyes cracked open, finding Gibbs before shutting again, a ghost of a smile on his face. His whisper was inaudible, except to Gibbs. "Sorry, Boss. Got away."
Gibbs shook his head and patted Tony's shoulder gently, felt the shivers run through his body. "We got it handled, DiNozzo," he assured. He opened a bottle of water and gave one to Tim. "Drink." He took the cap off the other and touched the edge to Tony's lips. "Just a sip, then you relax. I'm going to make a little more room in here."
Tony didn't respond, but he did swallow the few drops of water Gibbs dribbled into his mouth.
McGee just continued to stare, unblinking, at Tony. McGee's head jerked up suddenly when he heard scraping noises above, followed by voices. "Rescue team, Boss?" he asked anxiously.
Gibbs turned his head and shouted urgently with his strong gunnery sergeant's voice. "Down here!"
The lead paramedic raced to Tony, followed by two EMTs carrying a Stokes basket and other equipment and bags. "What's his name?"
"Tony DiNozzo," Gibbs supplied.
"Tony, can you open your eyes here?"
Tony's eyes fluttered open, his gaze searching until he saw Gibbs.
"That's good. My name's John. This is Roy—"
"No way. . . ," Tony whispered, his eyes shutting again. "No way."
"I know, Johnny and Roy. Hard to believe, right? We're going to check you out and get you on your way to the hospital as fast as possible." The man moved with practiced hands, checking Tony over while his partner started getting Tony's vitals. A few quick glances between the two spoke volumes to the severity of Tony's condition. "When did this tourniquet go on?"
McGee looked at his watch, but Gibbs answered first. "Two hours and three minutes ago."
"I see he took a blow to the head," the EMT noted. He pointed to the vomit. "That his?"
"Uh, no, that was me," McGee admitted. "Twice. But we were both knocked out in the blast. I came to before he did, and that cut on his forehead bled for quite a while. It finally quit about twenty minutes ago. His back is all cut up, too. I didn't have any way to stop that bleeding until I got back with the first aid kit. I did my best with gauze and tape, but, I was kind of . . . clumsy, and the tape didn't want to stick."
"You did all you could do. Tried to keep him warm, too, that's all good. Either of you know if he's on any meds? Any medical conditions?"
Gibbs spoke up. "No regular meds, but he's a pneumonic plague survivor from 2005."
Both rescuers looked at Gibbs, sure they had heard him incorrectly. "Did you say 'pneumonic plague'?"
"Genetically modified Y. pestis. That's classified information, by the way, so 'need to know' only."
"Jeez. How many lives does this guy have?"
"Don't know, but he's used up five already. He had a concussion a few months ago, too. Head versus pavement."
"Okay, we'll be sure that all gets passed on. Any blast that could do this wouldn't do his lungs any favors, either."
The EMT who had been jotting down information as it was reported eyed McGee. "It wouldn't have done your lungs any good, either. You feel okay?"
"Fine."
"We'll want to check you out when we get topside, if you're good to walk out of here."
McGee and Gibbs both nodded.
The lead paramedic finished his primary assessment and quietly exchanged information with the EMT. They started an IV, placed an oxygen mask on his mouth and nose, and quickly splinted his lower leg.
The paramedic addressed Gibbs as the two EMTs packaged Tony for extrication. "He's lost a lot of blood, obviously, and he's gone into shock. That IV should help bring that blood pressure up. We need to get him out of here fast."
The paramedics swiftly placed Tony in the Stokes basket for his protection on the way out of the demolished barn. Gibbs carried the IV bag, wincing inwardly with every bump and scrape of the basket. Speed was paramount, and this crew knew their business. They placed a light covering over Tony's face, and blankets over his body to protect him from falling debris as well as they could. McGee moved slowly and methodically, his eyes glued to Gibbs' back.
"You hanging in there, McGee?" Gibbs asked as he wove his way through the tight space behind the basket.
"Hanging in there, Boss."
Gibbs felt nearly equal measures of pride, fear, and burning anger. Anger with himself as much as anyone else. Danielle Turner had gotten the upper hand. At least his fury kept him sharp, gave him drive.
The temperature had been dropping since sundown, and the rain had picked up. Even though they were under partial cover as they struggled their way upward, water worked its way through the shattered building, along the paths of least resistance, adding slickness to the dangerous piles of jagged wood, broken concrete, and twisted rebar. It was agonizingly slow climbing out of the rubble and nearly as slow as they carefully picked their way back down to ground level. Many hands assisted with the last of the descent, and once the rescue party cleared the blast zone, the pace improved dramatically.
The quiet little farm in Berryville had transformed, resembling a carnival as much as a crime scene. Three fire trucks, four police cars, two ambulances, and a variety of other vehicles had assembled on the grounds, their multi-colored blinking lights adding to the chaotic atmosphere.
Ziva ran to the rescue basket, fear gripping her heart when she saw that the body and face were covered. She halted in shock, but soon recognized the urgency in rescuer's pace. An urgency not present to transport a corpse. She strode alongside the rescue basket and pulled the light protective flap off Tony's face. His eyes opened slowly and locked on hers. She thought she saw recognition in his hazel eyes. She thought he might have nodded at her. She hoped he had.
"You fight, Tony! Fight!" Ziva ordered.
The rescuers placed the basket on a rolling gurney and rushed to the waiting helicopter, where the Medevac team took over. Tony's clothes were cut off him, monitors attached, and IVs checked as the pilot prepared to take off.
A growing crowd of reporters shoved their microphones and lights in Ziva's face, the sudden brightness blinding her.
"So can you tell us about the man pulled from the devastation?" "Can you give us a name?" "Is it true he's a police officer?" "Is it the missing Marine we've heard rumors about?" " Is it a federal case?" "It appears to be the result of some sort of bombing. Is this an act of terrorism?" "Will Homeland Security be brought in to help NCIS with this case?" "Someone said he is a suspect. What can you tell us?"
Ziva pushed silently past them to Gibbs' side and two local policemen strove to keep the reporters from following her.
Gibbs yelled loudly over the sound of the spinning rotors, "Tony! We'll see you at Bethesda!" He then hailed a local cop. "This is no longer a rescue site. It's my crime scene. I need the area cordoned off, and these reporters off the property. Now!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Ziva—come with me." Gibbs led her over to one of the ambulances, where the paramedic had draped a blanket over McGee's shoulders while they took his vitals.
"Gibbs," Ziva said as softly as she could, given the noise of the helicopter taking off, "they are not taking him to Bethesda. They are taking him to Fairfax."
"Yeah, but I want the media storm to go to Bethesda," Gibbs answered knowingly.
Tim had assumed Tony would go to Bethesda, where he had been treated in the past. "Why Fairfax? Because it's closer?"
The paramedic answered. "It's closer, but Fairfax is also a Level 1 Trauma Center, with the vascular and orthopedic specialists that your buddy needs. Bethesda isn't." He finished splinting McGee's wrist and bandaged up his hands. "You'll need to get those cleaned at the hospital, along with x-rays for that wrist."
"Even with the tourniquet, Tony's leg still kept bleeding. It slowed down a lot, but blood still kept coming. I couldn't stop it completely."
"That medullary oozing is normal, even with a tourniquet that's on right. It comes from the inside of the bones that broke," the paramedic assured him.
"Are you guys really named John and Roy, like from that old TV show?"
The dark-haired EMT laughed. "Emergency. Yeah, but I'm Roy, and he's Johnny. Backwards."
"Tony is going to think that's hilarious. First he gets a doctor named Brad Pitt and now he's rescued by Johnny and Roy."
"He okay to ride with me to Fairfax?" Gibbs asked.
"If he wants to," John answered. "But he really does need to be checked out thoroughly there. And he'll need to sign some papers saying it's his choice."
Roy walked over with papers on a clip board and pen.
"No problem, thanks. For everything," McGee answered, clumsily signing his name with his bandaged left hand.
"You two, with me," Gibbs said, walking toward his car and away from the crowds.
"McGee, I need to know what the hell happened here. You find Danielle? You said you found Turner's body?"
"Kind of. I saw blood on the carpet about the time that she, uh, Danielle, bolted for the barn here, so Tony and I chased her, but she was really fast. Faster than Tony, if you can believe it. We searched the barn, and didn't think she could have left it and the hay was all cleared off the hatch to the lower level—it's some sort of old fallout shelter, so we thought she went down there. Tony had me watching the hatch from the bottom of the stairs while he searched the basement. He found Sergeant Turner in the freezer, dead. He didn't find Danielle, so he went to take a closer, slower look."
Gibbs nodded. "Then?"
"Then I heard a boom and something that sounded like a blast of sand or little rocks or something. It sounded pretty far away, but Tony yelled something and I heard coughing. I asked him if he was okay, and he yelled for me to stay back. There was another boom, closer, and he yelled 'Get out,' and I heard him yell 'bomb,' then he shoved me up the stairs, and tackled me as more bombs started exploding. Good thing the blast threw us off the side of those stairs, because you saw what was left."
Gibbs filled Ziva in. "Completely filled with debris. Impassable." He turned back to McGee. "Ended up shielding you two from the worst of it."
"When we came to, Tony was still on top of me, but his leg . . . ." McGee shut his eyes as a wave of renewed nausea washed over him.
"Take your time," Gibbs soothed uncharacteristically. "Tony's in good hands."
"His leg, it, uh, was hung up on a piece of rebar, from above him. It went in through the back of his calf and broke the bones. The, uh, Boss, the bleeding wouldn't stop, and his back, and head . . . it was all bleeding, and we needed help. He told me to do the tourniquet, but, but I knew what that could mean." McGee attempted to swallow past the huge lump blocking his throat that was stopping any more words that might have tried to emerge. "Gibbs, he could lose his leg! He might never be a field agent again!"
Gibbs gazed intently at McGee, who now stared at an indistinct spot on the ground. "Look at me, McGee."
McGee did as his boss ordered, expecting to see the fierceness to which he had become accustomed. McGee's heart sank when he saw pain, loss, and compassion in Gibbs' intense eyes.
"You did good here, Tim."
A look of doubt crossed McGee's features, but Gibbs gently squeezed his shoulder for reassurance. "Never found Danielle?" he ventured. "Or any sign of an accomplice?"
McGee shook his head.
"And you're still sure she went down that hatch?"
"There was no other exit to the barn, not above ground, anyway," McGee confirmed. "But later, Tony said, 'tunnel.' He was too out of it to explain. Boss, there's got to be a tunnel back there—it would be in the northwest corner."
Gibbs nodded. "There's a bomb team on the way, and Vance will send in another team to start processing this when ATF and EOD give the nod. We're going to need whatever's left of the bombs and their immediate surround, and we need that freezer and whatever is left of the body.
"Ziva, you have the lead, but if you need something, you call me or you call Vance. I don't know whose jurisdiction some of this is going to fall in, but I'm sure there'll be a pissing match. You don't give up the lead unless the order comes directly from Vance. We're going to need a full team to go through that house. Have the local LEOs patch any calls through their dispatch if you can't get a cell signal. I'll be back in the morning, and I'll send an update on Tony as soon as we have one."
As Ziva nodded and took a deep breath, Gibbs added, "And Tony's going to be okay."
Gibbs surveyed the restless crowd of people and vehicles. "Better get out there. You're in charge of this clusterf—"
Ziva lipread the end of the final word, the end of which was covered up by the backing horn of one of the fire engines. She reassembled her game face and took charge, her body language alone daring anyone to challenge her. Her emotions were running so high she almost wished someone would.
To the local law enforcement officers, Gibbs yelled, "This woman's name is Ziva David, and she is with NCIS and in charge of this crime scene. You mess with her and I won't be held responsible. You got that?" He spread his arms in a sweeping gesture to the reporters and camera crews on the grounds. "And nobody talks to the media!"
"Get in, McGee," Gibbs pointed to his car.
"What about Tony's car?" McGee asked as he followed Gibbs.
"It'll keep. Mine's faster."