A/N: It's been awhile. The asthma continues as does a historically bad winter. The load at work is huge. All of this has impacted the energy I have for writing, but I am trying to stick with it. Finishing stories is important. There is only one NCIS story I haven't finished. It's a big story and I understand if it's hard to keep up with much space between chapters. Still, I appreciate those of you who are willing to try. Sheila

Chapter 5

Tony looked up from the files. "More?"

Ellie shrugged as she put another pile on the table. "We still have 80 people on staff who could've planted those bugs."

"I got to piss off that many people in interrogation to find the mole? I've already raked 15 people over the coals over this. I had Jensen from HR in tears half the morning. Everyone in this agency are going to hate me by the time this is over."

"I can help."

He gave her a look. "No, you can't. I can't let you get that close to this."

She leaned against the doorway. "I haven't been here long enough. I should be a suspect too."

"Yeah, well Gibbs has a gut. I do too. You didn't do it."

"Others are going to be suspicious. Interrogating me like the rest of these folks is probably going to help that."

"How about we just focus on finding the real mole, Bishop? Stay with Abby. Work backgrounds on our suspects."

"You mean, co-workers."

"Shut up, Bishop," He muttered.

She chewed her lip. "You miss him."

"It's only been a week. We find the mole and then we'll get him back."

"You're edgy without him."

"I'm edgy because I have to treat all of my co-workers like suspects."

He balances you, doesn't he? Evens you out."

Tony stopped going through files and looked up. "He and I have been through a lot…It's what happens when you work together a long time."

"You're such different, people, you know, but you accept that in one another. It's been interesting to watch."

"Stop analyzing, Ellie."

"Okay."

"Where's Gibbs?"

"In Vance's office with the U.S. Attorney, Fornell, and Miltonoff."

Tony groaned. "I'm glad I'm missing that."

For a moment, neither said anything. Then Tony looked around the room until he spotted Dorneget. "Get over here, Dorneget! Take this file, find my next victim, and put them in interrogation. I'll be there in 5."

…

She opened the can of Diet Coke in front of her and took a long drink as if she'd been denied liquids for days. The fact that she was sitting across the table from an agitated LeRoy Jethro Gibbs seemed to neither register nor matter to her. Fornell watched in fascination as she focused on the drink in front of her as it she was alone in the room with it.

"Ms. Mullins, are you listening?" Vance barked like a stern schoolmaster.

She was in her early fifties, but tried to deny it all with bottle blonde hair and makeup that was too harsh. Skinny had begun to look boney on her, but she wore a low cut blouse as if it was alluring. "I've heard everything you gentlemen have said," she drawled with a hint of the Appalachians still evident in her speech.

"Special Agent McGee is an NCIS agent, and it is vital that we have access to him on an ongoing basis."

"He's in Witness Protection, Director Vance. In Witness Protection, we do not give outside entities access to our witnesses."

"We are not an outside entity. We are his employer," Vance persisted.

She took another long swig off her soda. "There are no exceptions."

Gibbs leaned in. "He's my agent and I want to speak to him."

She looked at him. "He was your agent. When you signed him over to the U.S. Marshals, he became the responsibility of the U.S. Attorney. He is now my material witness against the Arnolds. For the time behing, he is not your agent."

"Now Susie," Marv Miltonoff said, shaking his head. "You're playing hardball with these folks and I get where you're coming from, but McGee is recovering from a big trauma, and talking to people like his boss is going to help that."

"You can be assured that McGee is somewhere safe and that he is being attended to by trained professionals."

"Susie, that just ain't good enough."

She sighed. "I'm perplexed by all this. You haven't even found your own mole, and yet, you want to compromise the safety of your agent by exposing him."

"Allowing me to talk to McGee compromises nothing. We're going to find our mole. But I need to see my man!" Gibbs said.

She shook her head. "I realize that you think you're a safe guy, but that's not enough for me. I don't know that you're a safe guy. I don't know you at all. I only know that you are part of an organization that almost got my witness killed. It is my job to protect McGee."

Gibbs slapped the table and got up, walking to the other end of the room. Susan Mullins didn't even blink. She downed the rest of her drink and sat back.

"Susie, we still have to re-interview him," Miltonoff said.

She nodded. "Right. I'm going to do that in a couple of days."

"I go too," Gibbs said.

"Oh I don't think so," she said casually. "Is there anything else, gentlemen? I have meetings."

Gibbs looked away.

"Good. I appreciate your understanding." She grabbed her bag and coat, leaving the Coke can at the center of the table. "Oh, and can someone direct me to the nearest soft drink machine."

…..

The pain took his breath when he tried to shift his body even though he was taking the prescribed dose of Vicodin. The doctor noted the grimace on his face. "I still think we should change your prescription to Demerol."

He shook his head sharply. "I had that once. Couldn't concentrate."

She turned and looked at the two Marshals. "Doesn't seem like you really need to concentrate right now. These gentlemen can do all your thinking for you. You just need to rest."

"No," he said through gritted teeth.

She turned to the two guys in nylon jackets. "Can the two of you excuse us?"

The one looked to the other and said. "Sorry, we can't allow that, Ma'am."

"Okay." She said as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Tim, I did three very delicate surgeries, and I gotta tell you that those surgeries, in my world, are sort of works of art. I got the pictures to prove it. And I don't need you messing that up."

He gave her an empty stare.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I didn't think that would work. How about this- you are a pretty terrific guy who went through something horrific and you need to heal."

He looked away.

"Not much better, huh. Oftentimes, surgeons are surgeons because we have terrible people skills. The truth is that you need to rest in order to heal. You're having nightmares. You're in significant pain. You're restless. I have been assured by the Marshals here that your only job right now is to heal. I have been assured that they will protect you. Does that help?"

His face didn't move.

She sighed. "Can you say something to the nice doctor who saved your hand?"

He closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"Are you talking to the therapist?"

He grimaced and shook his head.

"Okay, I am way out of my depths here so let me just focus on where I have expertise. Your hand was a pile of bones a week and a half ago. I have put those bones back together, but it's still all very delicate. They need time to properly mend. You need to keep that hand as still as possible. I suspect it is very painful right now. Take your medication. Rest. Let everyone else do the worrying for you."

"Okay," he said softly.

"You're humoring me, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I've done what I can do. I've got to get back to my practice. This is a very weird situation, you know. They actually have to blindfold me until I am on a private government jet. I got stories for days for the next Orthopedic conference."

He looked at her silently.

"That was supposed to make you laugh. Probably was insensitive, right?" She sighed deeply. "I've been meaning to take this beside manner workshop. Haven't found the time. I guess I better make the time, huh?"

His eyes softened. "It's not you. You did fine."

"Thanks." She smiled. "We'll skype next week. You'll start physical therapy in a month when your bones have strengthened."

She got up and turned to the Marshals. "Take good care of him. The more that hand stays mobile, the better."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She left the room and one of the Marshals approached. "Now, let's do what she says, Tim. No getting up and pacing. You take medication when we give it. We got movies and cable. You can watch anything you want."

"I want a computer."

"Sorry, Son. That's not on the menu. Word is that you're dangerous when it comes to technology. Can't risk it."

"Then let me talk to my boss."

The large man shook his head slowly. "Also, not possible. We got orders."

McGee said nothing.

"Hey now, no reason we can't be friends. No one is trying to hurt you here. What say we watch those Star Wars movies you like so much?"

McGee shook his head and rolled away from him.

…

Bishop peered her head into interrogation. "I know I'm not supposed to interrupt."

Tony glared at her while the man across from him sat nervously tapping the table with his fingers, his cheeks flushed. "Cardinal rule. People have gone to prison for less."

"Jill Marks from the Fraud Unit wants to talk to you."

"She can wait," he said firmly.

Ellie shook her head. "No, I don't think she can."

Tony frowned at her for a moment and then he turned to the man across from him. "Clark, take five."

The man all but scrambled out of his chair and brushed past Bishop. Ellie looked out the door and gestured for a woman. She came in, red eyed and nervous. Tony remembered her as the long, cool blonde he ran into in the elevator every couple of months. He'd chatted with her before, but she'd never responded to his charms.

Today, she dropped into the chair across from him as if she'd been running for hours.

Tony studied her. "Jill? You have something to say."

She stared down at the table and sniffed loudly. "I can't stand it anymore. It's unfair to everyone- these interrogations."

"Well, we have a mole, Jill."

"I know." She refused to look at him.

"Looks like you have something to tell me."

"I can't find a way to do this without losing everything."

Tony nodded. "I see. Try doing the right thing. It might go better than you think."

She rubbed at her face and looked up. "I did it."

"Did what?"

"Put bugs under Gibbs' desk and in the light."

"And why would you do that?"

She swallowed, her face teary. "I was paid "$35,000."

"So, that's what it costs to betray your country."

She screwed up her face. "I didn't betray my country."

He pounded the table. "NCIS is the United States! We serve Navy personnel. You betrayed us!"

She collapsed into sobs. He watched her for a few minutes, and then beckoned to the mirror. A few seconds later, Ellie opened the door. Tony turned his head. "Turn her life upside down. Search warrants for her home, car, and finances. Now!"

He turned back to the crying woman. "It means something that you came to me rather than make me interrogate 40 more people. Now, you need to stop crying and tell me everything."

The sobs continued.

"Hey! Look at me!"

She raised her head, hiccupping her breath.

"Take it from the beginning, Jill. We have a lot to talk about."

She nodded and took a deep, shaky breath.

…

Gibbs was staining a table when he heard footsteps on the stairs. They were heavier than Fornell's and slower than Tony's. He frowned and put the brush down. Bowed legs appeared and then the large body of Marv Miltonoff carrying a paper bag and a bottle. Miltonoff grunted as he hit the bottom step. "I know I'm not your favorite person, Gibbs, but I come bearing gifts."

Gibbs started to gesture toward the stool, and then rethought it, and pulled out a bench. "Take a load off, Miltonoff."

"Be much simpler if you called me Marv."

Gibbs cleared a space on his table. "What do you got?"

Marv smiled. "BBQ. Little hole in the wall. Doesn't even have a sign. I didn't get ribs. Too much mess, but they have chicken wings that taste like heaven. Also got some collareds."

Gibbs gestured at the bottle in his hand. "That soda pop?"

"Raw Kentucky bourbon. You can drink it or peel paint with it."

Gibbs blew the dust out of a couple of mugs, and handed them to him. Miltonoff poured and Gibbs took a sip. He winced. "Damn! There is no confusion about what this is."

"Too much?"

He shook his head slowly. "No way. This is just perfect. I like my bourbon with a bite."

Miltonoff opened up the Styrofoam container of wing and the container of collared greens. He stuck two forks in the greens and put a stack of napkins in front of each of them. "So, tell me about your mole."

Gibbs studied him for a moment before picking up a wing. "She was paid "35,000 to bug my desk. She says she approached by someone who said he was NSA. She claims he told her it was a matter of national security. Says she signed a contract, and that the pay was for her work."

Miltonoff frowned. "Doesn't sound NSA to me."

"Nope. I don't think so either. Vance has been burning up the phone lines, but no one over there will claim it. My agent, Bishop, was NSA, and she has called all her contacts."

"Your mole naïve or slippery?"

Gibbs sighed. "DiNozzo spent the day with her. Definitely greedy. Poor judgment. But she doesn't seem like a mastermind. Doesn't matter though. She's facing charges. You think she might have connections to militia? We're digging deep into her history."

"Hard to say," Marv said, wiping grease off his fingers. "I'll make some calls."

"You could've gotten all this from a simple phone call. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Miltonoff bit into another wing. "Susie is sending me to interview McGee tomorrow."

"I want to go."

He shook his head. "Marshals are only authorized to take me. Susie isn't going at all. That's a little weird considering the circumstances."

Gibbs took a long draw of the bourbon. "What are you talking about?"

Marv wiped his mouth and sat back. "I'd like to tell you a story, Gibbs."

"I'm listening." Gibbs poured another two fingers of the fiery liquor.

"I was Army. Munitions. Was sent to 'Nam when I was eighteen. It was the year we pulled out. I worked landmines. Had a feel for it that was a little…different. I get real calm under pressure. No sweating. No fear. No panic. I get calm, and in ordinance work that's everything. I gained a reputation. After 'Nam, they sent me wherever there were bombs to diffuse. I went to Africa. Cambodia. Bosnia. By the time I was 30, I was teaching ordinance out of Fort Bragg. Then I got called in by the FBI to help with a case where abortion clinics were being bombed in different states. I liked the investigative work. Got a referral to the academy and I went. Met Susie Mullins there actually. She was young and ambitious and ready to set the world on fire. Known her going on 25 years now."

Gibbs watched him closely but said nothing.

"They stuck us both in the Nashville office. I was happy as a pig in shit. My folks lived only two hours away. Susie treated it like it was a punishment. She only lasted two years, pushing to get to D.C. Finally, she got a chance."

"I didn't know she was bureau."

"She was. Knowing Susie, she was probably planning on being Director. She was there, maybe, 10 years. Got her law degree. Tried to get an assistant directorship. Always seemed to elude her. Then the U.S. Attorney opportunity opened up and she took it."

"This about Susie Mullins?"

"No, this is about me. I was a good agent. Kept current on bomb making and bomb breaking. Did seminars. Kept up with all the kids. Got interested in the militia about 10-12 years ago. They like bombs. They're mostly country. Means we all have a whole lot in common. Did great those first years. Made arrests. Broke up rings. Heard about the Arnolds and pursued 'em hard. Met Tobias on the case where we caught up with Chuck. Susie prosecuted. Put him in a death cell. Good day's work. Then I went after the rest. Things haven't gone right since."

"I don't understand."

"Me neither. I didn't figure it was going to be all that hard to round up Darrell and Winston. Had 'em pinpointed four times. And four times, we raided and came up with nothing. My intel was good. I set up a couple of fellers undercover. Each time, they got made, and for the life of me, I can't figure out how. For the last six years, I've been the guy who can't get it right."

Gibbs watched him carefully. "That's a pretty long streak."

"Yup. I think so too. Started to notice a pattern. Any time I sent a report on the Arnolds to D.C, it seemed like things would go wrong. Blamed myself for a good long while. Thought I was sloppy." He shook his head and reached for the bourbon. "About two years ago, I tested it. Sent out a false report. Said that I had a new informant at this roadhouse that militia frequent. Put a feller in there that I didn't tell anyone about. All he was supposed to do was sit, drink, and listen. He reported back to me that they were talking snitch two days after the report got sent. Militia cleared out of there. Someone in D.C. was dirty."

"You talk to Tobias?"

"Tried. He's a good feller, but he's a company man. Couldn't wrap his head around it. He was sure the leak was in the Nashville office. I didn't know what to think. After that, I went underground. Focused on ordinance workshops but I stopped talking. I stopped talking to anyone about the Arnolds. Pissed Susie off. She's been wanting all the brothers. Took some work home. Focused on the Arnolds out of my basement."

"Did you learn anything?"

"They are real lucky fellers. Always one step ahead. Wasn't like that before we got Chuck. I knew that they were headed to D.C. to cause trouble for Tobias. Warned him personally. Didn't imagine they'd try to go through you. Certainly never thought they would grab your agent."

"So, you're here to apologize for McGee?"

"No, I'm here because I haven't rested well in two years. My gut is all messed up. I don't think your mole is all that significant. I think that's to throw us off the real scent. I think the real mole is in the bureau. I think the mole wouldn't give 'em Tobias. Too risky. I think the Arnolds had to go rogue. Thought they could get to him through you."

"Okay."

Miltonoff let out a deep breath. "6 months ago, a team came from D.C. to go through the files in my office. They were particularly interested in the Arnold files. They talked to the agents. Later, folks told me that most of the questions were about me. I reckon the only mole they are considering is me."

"You're telling me you're a mole, Marv."

Miltonoff gave him a long look and shook his head. "I'm telling you that someone with some real power is."

"Who?"

Miltonoff stared into his bourbon for a long time. "I don't know. I don't know anything for sure, but I've spent the last two years sitting in my basement staring at a wall full of evidence about the Arnolds and my gut ain't right. I did not screw up that many opportunities to grab those fellers."

"And what's your gut like now?"

"A couple of things don't feel right."

"Such as?"

Marv sighed and used the table to steady himself as he got to his feet. "Let me think on it some. Not ready to point fingers. Give me a couple of days to make sense of it."

"You think talking to McGee might help?"

He nodded. "It might. I'll tell the boy you're thinking about him. I'll make sure he knows that you're wearing down ol' Susie about letting you see him."

Gibbs stood. "Tell him I know how strong he is. Tell him that's how I know he's going to be okay. Tell him I'd be there if I could."

He nodded. "I'll tell him."

"Seems odd that Mullins isn't going."

Miltonoff frowned. "I thought so too. But knowing Susie, I'm sure she has her reasons. She always has a grand plan."

"Since we've plugged the hole at NCIS, there's no reason we can't bring McGee back here for protection."

Marv grinned. "And you expect her to be reasonable about that."

"She damn well better be," Gibbs said, downing the last of the bourbon in his glass.

"Yeah, good luck with that, Gibbs."

…..

"Hey fellers, name is Miltonoff." Marv extended a hand to the Marshals. "How's Tim?"

"Napping in the next room," said one that introduced himself as Simpson.

The other one, a large man named Locke, said. "He's a sullen cuss. Not very cooperative."

"Well, boys, he's had a rough time. I reckon he doesn't want to be here. Can't blame him really."

Simpson folded his arms. "Keeps talking about wanting to see his boss. I've never had a supervisor in my entire life that I wanted to spend more than two minutes with, and this kid can't shut up about talking to him."

"We asked if he had new information, but he claims that he just wants to talk to his boss."

"Weird." Simpson shook his head.

"Not so much if you knew his team. They're tight."

"Whatever. I'm going to be glad when this detail is over."

"Listen, the kid needs more pain medication. I gotta go to the drugstore. Can you help Locke carry the detail until I get back?"

Marv looked at Simpson. "Sure."

"You're packing, right?" Locke studied him.

"No," Miltonoff said slowly. "I thought that was against policy in Witness Protection."

"It's not a problem, Simpson," Locke said, chuckling. "The kid can protect himself with his sparkling personality."

"Alright, I'll be back in an hour or so," Simpson said shutting the front door behind him.

"Marv?"

Miltonoff turned and saw Tim at the door of the bedroom, looking slightly disoriented. "Hey Tim!"

"Is Gibbs here?" Tim looked around the room, his hair disheveled.

"No. Just me. The Gunny sends his best. He's fighting to get you back real back, but he knows you can handle yourself in the meantime."

Tim's bandaged hand was tied against his body and he absently anchored it with his good hand. "Take me hom, Marv. I'll be safe. Tony and Gibbs will make sure."

Marv nodded. "Not my call, son."

"Why are you here then?"

"Gotta get you ready. We have a hearing coming up with Darrell in a week. We're gonna go over some things."

McGee nodded. "I gotta use the john."

"Need help?"

McGee gave him a withering glance and shuffled down the hall.

…

McGee stared at the pale face in the mirror. Hair stuck up on the back of his head, but he made no move to comb it down. Using the toilet had been time consuming and frustrating. Accepting help would've sped things up, but the thought of needing that kind of help mortified him. He turned on the faucet, and used his good hand to splash water on his face. He blinked through the wetness and tried to focus. The pain meds left him too foggy, but the alternative was mind-numbing pain.

He picked up a washcloth and scrubbed at his face. Then he draped it over the faucet and took a deep breath. He turned to open the door when he heard sounds that stole his breath.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

He locked the door and backed up to the shower, looking around the room wildly. He'd heard enough gunshots in his career to have no doubts about those sounds. There was nothing even vaguely usable as a weapon. He reached up to wrestle with the shower rod but it was firmly drilled into the wall. He backed up against the wall, breathing hard. He tried to angle himself in a way that the shooter might not expect.

Then he waited for the shots. For a moment, it was quiet, and then a huge weight landed against the door and he heard the wood splinter. McGee was prepared to launch himself at the attacker, and was surprised to find Miltonoff standing there, blood soaking through the fabric at his shoulder and pointing a gun straight at him.

…

TBC