Chasing Jack

Chapter Three

Tim squinted up into the hazy glow overhead as he climbed out of the driver's side of the navy blue sedan. The forecast had called for overcast skies all day but now it appeared the sun was making a run at burning through the clouds. And, of course, his sunglasses were tucked away in a drawer back in his desk.

He almost hoped the sun didn't succeed and not just because of the present location of his shades. As he had looked up into the growing brightness he had suddenly been thrust back in time to another place where he had paused and done the very same thing.

Four years earlier he had climbed out of a similar car and peered up into the sky for a long moment. That time had been at the scene where Tony had perished into the bay. The sky had been such an intense blue that day that the young agent wasn't sure he had ever seen it that particular color before and the brilliant sunlight beaming down had been nearly painful in its brightness. It was not something he wanted to have to look up into on this day.

"McGee!" Gibbs' voice crashed in through his thoughts.

"Yeah Boss!"

"Were you under the impression this was some kind of weather watcher field trip?"

"No Boss. And I think the word you were searching for is meteorological."

"The only thing I'm searching for is my senior field agent on my six."

"Right Boss!" Tim responded and scrambled to lock up the vehicle and then catch up to the team lead who was already part way down the sidewalk towards their destination. They had acquired the evidence in the Devon Davis case from the local PD and delivered it to Abby. Ducky and Palmer were in the process of obtaining the body and transferring it to NCIS autopsy. So far Ziva and Agent Moore had been left out of the loop. When Tim had mentioned giving them the news Gibbs had simply responded with a solid but calm "Not yet.". The discussion had ended there.

Now they were headed for the location where Davis' body had been found the day prior. Even though the local LEOs had processed the scene they weren't about to leave to chance that something had been overlooked. Not this time. Not on this case.

As Tim trailed the more senior agent through the doorway into the apartment building the other man's words swirled around inside his head. "The only thing I'm searching for is my senior field agent on my six." It had made him think of DiNozzo. Keeping these types of thoughts at bay was proving impossible this day.

Usually he could cut them short or tuck them away until he was off duty. But the words almost seemed to be infused with a dual meaning – even if Gibbs himself didn't realize it. Tim feared that the other man would forever be searching for the senior field agent he lost to be back on his six. Especially since Tony had been more to the older man. DiNozzo had been his long time partner and friend. Even more perhaps Tony had been like a chosen son or a rambunctious little brother to Gibbs. Tim had wavered back and forth on that one. Most days he had landed upon that Tony had been the closest Gibbs would ever have to a son and that, in turn, had made him big brother to the rest of them in their rather quirky little family.

"Boss! There's an elevator!" Tim called out to Gibbs as the senior agent headed in the direction of the stairwell. In reply Gibbs glanced around the lobby then spoke up.

"In this building? Odds of survival – not likely!" the team lead responded and started up the stairs. Tim took a second look around. Despite the fact that the building had looked average for the neighborhood on the outside it was merely a shell. Now studying the run down interior it did seem that maintenance was not particularly high on the priority list around the place. At second glance Tim wasn't even sure it was on the to-do list at all. That was if there even was a to-do to begin with and cleaning mostly certainly had never been so much as considered.

"The stairs it is!" he declared and headed off to the stairwell. Six flights later he was almost wishing he had risked the death trap of an elevator. Gibbs somehow stayed steadily ahead of him and Tim wondered if the man moved at this speed now what had he been like in his younger days? Probably like Tony. Once again the thought had come to mind without hesitation. He blew out an extended frustrated breath. Normally he excelled at focusing on the task at hand but today Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo seemed to have hijacked his brain. He really needed to steal it back too. All this distraction was not good – dangerous even.

"Which one?" Gibbs asked as Tim joined him at the top of the steps.

"Should be down at the end on the left," Tim answered after a quick check of the numbers displayed upon the two nearest doorways and making a calculation inside his head. They headed down along the long hallway side by side in silence.

About halfway down towards the apartment where Devon Davis had been found Tim was about to open his mouth to speak but the words were halted before making it all the way out. The door to Apartment 665, the one they were headed towards, opened and two people stepped out into the hallway. The first was a slim figure perhaps five seven or five eight in height and wore a gray sweatshirt with the hood up over the person's head. The second was also wearing a hooded sweatshirt, this one black, and might have been two or three inches taller and twenty or so pounds heavier than the first. Closing the door behind them the duo turned to walk up the hallway in the direction McGee and Gibbs were headed down it. The combination of the dim lighting inside the building and the hoods made seeing any facial features impossible.

Noting the two men approaching the room that they had just exited and perhaps figuring the pair looked an awful lot like cops drew an immediate reaction. The hooded figures abruptly spun around in the opposite direction and set off at a dead run towards a stairwell at the far end of the hall.

"Stop! Federal agents!" Tim called out as both he and the team leader gave chase with weapons drawn. As the hooded subjects reached the top of the stairwell Gibbs voice rang out through the corridor.

"Federal agents! Stop now!"

Neither the words nor the commanding tone of voice it was delivered in had any impact. Both individuals simply kept going, disappearing down the stairway. Gibbs made the end of the hall first and leaned over the railing, catching sight of the two fleeing individuals.

"They're splitting up. Stay on gray. I'll take black!" the team leader called back over his shoulder as he took off down the stairs. Tim was not far behind now and when he had descended the first flight he saw what Gibbs had meant. The person in the gray sweatshirt had gotten off the stairs on the fifth floor and was now running along the hallway, more than likely towards the stairwell at the opposite end of the building.

The team lead and the person in the black sweatshirt had continued downward. McGee took off down the hallway, pouring every ounce of muscle and breath into it. Three quarters of the way down along the long narrow corridor he had closed the gap considerably. The subject of his pursuit was about to make the top of the stairs. The person was slowing slightly and Tim was making the very end of the hall. Just an extra little push and he knew he would be able to reach out and grab the back of the sweatshirt inside his fist.

Just as the realization of how truly close he was to catching the person washed through him a tall lanky young man pushing a bicycle out ahead him stepped out of an apartment doorway right in front of him. The harsh impact of their bodies shot the breath out of McGee's lungs and sent him toppling over sideways onto the floor. Desperately he struggled to get back to his feet but found that both the young man and bike were heaped on top of him.

"Get up! Move! Get up!" he cried out to the person now sprawled out across his lower body. Simultaneously he worked at dislodging his right foot from the wheel of the bicycle.

"I'm a federal agent! Get off me now or I won't hesitate to…!" he snapped out as he turned his head in the direction of the stairway. Finding that the person he had been chasing had now disappeared out of sight down the stairs cut his warning short and fully ignited his frustration. He turned back to the man who was now incredibly slowly working to untangle himself from his bike and the federal agent he had just landed upon. With his left hand McGee gave the man's shoulder a hard shove upwards and with his right he raised his weapon.

"On your feet now!" he yelled. The young man scrambled to his feet then took several steps backwards with his hands raised up in the air. The expression of terror that captured his face made Tim realize what he had just done and he lowered the weapon. Then kicked the bicycle out of the way and got to his feet.

"Sorry!" he tossed back over his shoulder as he bolted down the remainder of the corridor and into the stairwell.

Tim's heart pulsed furiously outward against his chest as he raced down the stairs. Flight after flight he careened around the turns on the brink of being out of control. Letting this guy get away was simply unacceptable even if his aching lungs disagreed at the moment.

As he made the turn onto the second floor landing he heard a door slam shut at the bottom of the stairwell. The person had made the first floor and had now more than likely exited the building. It only fueled his already red hot frustration and anger and he took the remaining steps in only a few thumps of his rapidly beating heart.

He burst through the doorway out onto the sidewalk with weapon raised up in preparation of whatever threat may reside on the other side. Frantically, Tim scanned the area in search of the subject of his pursuit.

Off to the right he spotted the hooded figure just reaching the end of the building. Tim took off at a desperate pace once again as he watched the person turn the corner and disappear down the alleyway between the building and the neighboring one. Arriving at the same corner he stopped and leaned his body against the brick of the building's exterior. Then he stole a swift glance around the corner. There was a vehicle parked halfway down the alley and the gray hooded figure was in the process of clamoring into the driver's seat of it. Tim also caught that a collection of papers that had been sticking out of the person's back pocket had gotten knocked out onto the ground as the person settled in behind the steering wheel.

Realizing that his last shot at stopping the person was in this moment Tim stepped out into the middle of the opening to the alleyway and leveled his weapon at the driver's side of car. The person started the engine and then the two faced off neither giving for a long moment. The driver of what Tim could now see was a silver Volkswagen revved the engine indicating what they intended to do. Tim shook his head in the negative, urging the person not to do it. He stood his ground, remaining positioned dead center in the exit to the alleyway. But the driver did it anyway and in the next instant the vehicle was speeding down the alley towards the agent. He jumped to the side as the car bore down upon him. The passenger side rear view mirror passed by his body by no more than a handful of inches. The vehicle careened around the corner to the right.

McGee made for the sidewalk as fast as his legs would carry him. But his heart was pounding furiously out against the constraints of his chest wall and his progress was moderate at best. It was then that a gunshot rang out through the air. He stopped dead in his tracks and let the sound sink into him in an attempt to decipher from which direction it had originated.

Tim was in motion even before the realization had completely traveled through his mind. The sound had come from the alleyway on the opposite side of the building – the direction in which his boss and the other hooded figure had set out towards. He raced around the corner of the building and out onto the sidewalk in time to see the person in the black sweatshirt who Gibbs had been chasing backing out of the alley at the opposite side of the building. A Smith & Wesson handgun was grasped in the suspect's right hand and the weapon was raised up pointing back down into the alleyway from which he had just emerged. Gibbs was nowhere in sight.

"Federal agent! Drop the weapon!" Tim cried out, raising his firearm towards the suspect. The command may have drawn a reaction if it had not been for the Volkswagen screeching to a halt down on the roadway next to the suspect. The hooded figure inside reached over and flung the passenger side door open. The partner dove inside and in the next instant the vehicle was speeding away. McGee had not even had so much as a chance in the situation. Firing at the suspects had not been an option since there were bystanders in the area. Added to that had been the distance and how incredibly fast it had occurred. His own vehicle was parked further down the street and he wasn't about to leave without – Gibbs!

Less than a full inhale after the thought had materialized Tim was running towards the alleyway at the opposite side of the building.

"Please please please! God please!" he whispered desperately as he made the corner of the building. Terror rippled through him as the mental echo of the gunshot reverberated inside his mind. Gibbs had to be alright. There was no other way it could turn out – no other way it could be. He had lost Kate. He had lost Tony. He was absolutely certain if he lost another his sanity might just go right along with them.

At the mouth of the alleyway Tim's gaze frantically searched for the team leader. There were cardboard boxes, trash cans, many and varied pieces of litter, a broken discarded table, but no one in sight.

His dead run pace faded with each passing stride into a light jog. The back end of the alley was dim, shadowed by the closeness of the buildings and the overhanging roofs above. Tim's grip tightened on the weapon in his hand – more out of fear what he might find and less out of potential threat. That was when he caught movement near the dumpster at the far end of the narrow alley. His lips parted to call out identifying himself and to deliver a command but the words never arrived into the air. Instead the young agent's body released a heavy pent up exhale of relief as he recognized Leroy Jethro Gibbs emerging from the shadows surrounding the dumpster and walking towards him.

Tim lowered his weapon and let his arms go to his sides as he watched the other man. The senior agent's hand was rubbing at his face and he was silent right up until he reached his Senior Field Agent. As his team lead arrived in front of him Tim noted the red and purplish lump that covered the other man's left cheekbone.

"What happened to you? Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

"Door. You?" the team lead asked with his gaze trained downward at Tim's left arm.

"Huh?" Tim responded then looked down at his own left hand. He hadn't even realized that he had gotten cut. Several nasty looking scrapes and a long gash decorated the skin on the top of his hand. Adrenaline must have masked the slight injury but there was only one place he could have received it.

"Bicycle!" he replied.

"Bicycle?"

"Don't ask."

"I won't. You catch a plate?"

"Yeah I'll call it in!" the younger agent replied holstering his weapon and grabbing his cell from his pocket. The call was brief and soon he was returning the phone to the place from which he had originally retrieved it.

"Get a look at all?" Gibbs inquired.

"No. You know the hood and it was kind of too dim. But I might have something. The suspect I was chasing dropped some papers."

"Let's see 'em."

"They're back in the other alley."

That small handful of words was all it took for the team leader to start marching off down the alleyway towards the street. Tim trailed after him suddenly feeling exhausted. The adrenaline was melting away and the hefty toll it always extracted was taking its place.

He arrived in the opposite alley just as the other man was snapping on a latex glove and bending down to pick up the folded up stack of papers. McGee came up beside him and studied each page as the team lead flipped through them. They were lists which consisted mostly of itineraries and detailed maps and several other sheets that seemed to be encrypted. They would all require further scrutiny but just from a first glimpse Tim knew that they had the lead they had been waiting so very long to uncover.

One glance up at the more senior agent as he read the papers confirmed that the two agents were thinking the same thing – they were going to give chase and this time around a dead end would simply not be the outcome. And maybe they would find something else to add to it back in the apartment where Davis' body had been found. Unless, of course, the duo they had chased had been there to clean up the place of anything useful.

Suddenly Tim felt if he had just been able to overcome that gap and capture their suspect they wouldn't feel quite so far behind right in that moment. Maybe if he had done more they would already be so much further ahead in their pursuit of those responsible for Tony's death. The words of apology slipped out from between his lips before he even realized he was going to speak.

"Boss I'm sorry that I didn't catch…" he began quietly before the other man cut him off from continuing.

Gibbs shot a glare over at him and then the team leader's hand came up a quarter of the way before being snapped closed into a fist. The expression on his face shifted from the usual one that accompanied the assault into one Tim couldn't quite read.

The older agent abruptly turned and walked away. It was the closest Tim had come to being head slapped in the last four years. The threat of it always lingered, either in Gibbs' glare or in his words. But somehow every since Tony's death the older agent had not delivered a full blown head slap to any of them. DiNozzo had been the main recipient of them on their team and somehow even when the gesture was delivered to someone else it had always carried some connection to Tony. It hadn't been the same with the head slap since. A lot of things were different now.

Most days that whole moving on thing didn't feel as right as people made it out to be. Sure they had continued to work cases, go on about their daily lives, but it simply was not the same. For Tim one of the little things that was most noticeable and didn't seem right was the overwhelming and painful silence that arrived each and every time he said something that should have been followed by an off beat comment by Tony. But now all that arrived was a heavy lifeless silence.

No. No it wasn't the same at all.

-0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-

Cleaning had not been Jack Cutter's favorite activity – at least not in his former life. Now it was daily routine and he braved to admit that maybe it had even become a rather strong habit. He wouldn't use the word obsessed. He could stop anytime he wanted. Okay, maybe he couldn't.

The process had become so engrained in his life that his body seemed to go on autopilot prompting him to roll up his sleeves and dig in with a whole lot of muscle power. For instance, like how he was now on his hands and knees scrubbing the shower after washing up after his run. Putting the sponge aside on the edge of the tub he reached over underneath the sink and retrieved the screwdriver he kept stored there. Using it to undo the screw that held the drain cover secured he placed the circular piece of metal on the edge of the tub as well. He then poked the tip of the screwdriver into the drain itself, scooping out the hair that had collected here.

"That's disgusting!" he commented out loud as he lifted the mushy blond clump out of the tub and dropped it into the trash bag beside him.

No matter how hard he scrubbed or how thoroughly he covered every inch of the place some physical trace of him would remain. Which was funny because that seemed like a lie somehow. He was becoming more and certain with the passing of each day that he was fading away into non existence. That one day like in some sci-fi flick he would wake up to find that overnight he had truly physically morphed into Jack Cutter or Sam Bright or any one of dozen other people he had once masqueraded as being in the past several years. Then those traces would no longer matter because they would belong to the person he had become and not the one he once had been. And it was the one he had once been that was in danger and could lead to the endangerment of others.

It had started innocently enough. Several relocations ago he realized he should make sure he kept the place picked up of personal items and the like in the event he had to take off in a hurry. It had grown gradually into something else a whole lot darker. Somewhere along the line he figured wiping down the place would slow down the retrieval of fingerprints or DNA and perhaps give him a better head start if he did have to relocate rather abruptly.

Ultimately, they would be found and identified but every mile further away it would afford him he could certainly use.

The off and on passes through wherever he was living at the time to clean up a bit became over time an intricate latex gloved near sterilization of the place. Looking back upon it now the fact that he had gone to such great lengths to wipe away as many traces of himself as possible was a bit unsettling. It was amazing how far you could take something without truly realizing what you were doing.

He sighed and sat back on his heels. He hated feeling invisible – always had. In his former life he had always made his presence known one way or another. Often it had resulted in a glare or roll of the eyes or some other similar reaction from the people present. But they had acknowledged that he was there and that was really all he had set out to accomplish.

Now here he was alone on the floor of a cramped bathroom in a nondescript apartment in a generic looking white building doing his damn best at erasing himself. Nausea crept up in him at the thought. Only one other person who his former self had known was aware he was still among the living. And now he himself was growing steadily to believe that soon the person he once had been would vanish completely.

One day he just might inadvertently succeed in wiping away the very last trace of himself. It sounded like something out of the Twilight Zone.

Jack shook his head in attempt to break away from the grip of those dark thoughts which seemed to have held him in a strong hold more frequently as of late. Quickly he replaced the drain cover, put the screwdriver back in its place, and scooped up the trash bag.

He stood up and made his way through his apartment to the kitchen. Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and his keys off the counter beside the back door he slipped out onto the rear porch of the building. After locking up he remained facing towards the door so that he could slip off the pair of latex gloves he had cleaned in and deposited them into the plastic bag in his hand. This trash just like all his other garbage would be either deposited into someone else's dumpster or if it happened to be trash day it would go into a random pile of bags along the sidewalk - just another attempt to remove the traces of his true identity. And just another routine action that pushed him further and further into anonymity.

Jack turned away from the doorway and moved to the top of the stairway. He paused there for a moment and gazed out over the bay and the small city of Portland, Maine. It was always a good idea to stop and take a look around because he never knew for certain when it would be time to move on and usually there was no time to take a last look back. And today his gut was urging him to take the time now to look around. He could tell that today would be a day he would spend his hours at work trying to cover his edginess. Often it was exhausting keeping his guard up all while not letting anyone else know that he was doing so.

"It's going to be one hell of a long day!" he whispered before heading off down the stairs and out into the city.

-0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-0-0-0- -0-0-

"Alright everybody grab your gear. You'll need your go bags!" McGee announced breezing into the team's pod of desks. He hurriedly began scooping up what he would need, tossing items off his desk into his backpack and then rummaging through his desk for still others.

"What is going on?" Ziva asked as she began to gather up her own things.

"We have a solid lead on The Wheel case! We got a hit on one of the key players – Devon Davis. His body was found yesterday in Virginia. When Gibbs and I went back to the scene this morning we came across a major lead. We're headed out to go to chase it down. Abby, Ducky, and Palmer will work it from this end. We're on the next flight. We'll brief the details in the air."

The words sent the other two agents into action, scrambling to scoop up their own backpacks and other needed items. Ziva was grateful that they would be in motion. A year ago on this day there had been a lull in their cases and she been forced to spend the entire day stationed at her desk doing nothing more than a boatload of paperwork and periodically staring over at the desk situated directly across from her. It had been an excruciating eternity of a day.

"Where we headed?" the newest member of the team inquired.

"North!" McGee responded.

"I didn't mean directionally. I meant geographically," Moore tossed back.

"I'd say that distinction is too close to call!" Tim quickly retorted.

"McGee!"

"Yes Ziva."

"To what city, town, county, state, district or other location type are we headed?" she asked interceding into what would inevitably turn into one of their go arounds if she did not.

"Well, we are headed towards many places…."

"Which one will we be arriving at?" she demanded.

"The coastal city of Portland."

"Oregon," Moore chimed in.

"Portland, Oregon isn't a coastal city," the senior field agent stated flatly.

"It's on the water!" Moore offered.

"It's on a river. That's not a coast."

"So it's not Portland, Oregon then?"

"That is correct. We will be arriving in the small city of Portland, Maine in just a few short hours."

"Maine? Is that part of Canada?" Moore inquired scratching at top of his head.

"No. It's not part of Canada! Did you miss the semester they taught geography?" McGee responded in a tone that indicated the absurdity of this conversation.

"Would have sworn I heard they succeeded to Canada," Moore murmured and winked over at Ziva when McGee closed his eyes in disbelief. She gave Moore a sly grin back. He was a relatively quiet person but every once in a while he could be mischievous especially when it was obvious that their senior field agent was stressed out. Most times it was enough to distract Tim from whatever he had developed tunnel vision for that was stressing him out – at least if only for a moment.

"You three coming or are ya waiting for a chauffeur and red carpet?" Gibbs' voice rang out into the bullpen. He was leaned halfway out of the elevator holding the door with his hand so it wouldn't shut before they all piled inside.

"On our way Boss!" McGee called back and urgently shooed the other two agents out into the aisle. Then sprinted over to the team lead's desk and snatched up his pack for him. As he made his way after the others he paused just for a moment at his desk and glanced at the American Pie coffee mug and letter opener that sat on its far corner. By the time they returned from the field this particular date on the calendar would have come and gone.

"You always loved road trips. Wish you were coming along. They miss you," Tim stated quietly then paused for a beat almost as if he was listening even though it was reflection before continuing.

"Alright fine! I miss you. Are you satisfied now?" he whispered before racing off towards the now closing elevator doors.

To Be Continued…