Chasing Jack
Chapter Ten
The day dawned to a gray sky. Standing at the window in Room 334 of the Harborside Hotel Tim McGee looked through the glass out at the city and over the bay. His gaze shifted to the dismally dark and weighted blanket of clouds overhead. Rain would come before the day was done.
He turned away from the window pane and looked around the empty room. Despite his secret hope that Gibbs would show up on his own it had not unfolded that way. His room was exactly as the team leader had left it. Tim hadn't really expected to find it any other way. Mostly he had stepped into Gibbs' room to simply have a moment by himself. But what he wouldn't have given to be standing there and have the boss stroll on in, pissed off and wielding one hell of a head slap directed at Tim for thinking anything other than he was perfectly safe and sound.
When they had arrived back at the hotel Tim had immediately hacked into the traffic cam system which did not have the coverage D.C.'s did but was somewhat useful nonetheless. They had watched on the video as Gibbs had parked on Pine Street and gotten out. He had seemed slightly agitated but physically alright as he made his way along the sidewalk. He had walked down Pine away from the intersection with Cross Court. But then he had quickly moved outside the range of that camera or any of the few others spread out in the area.
A bit of time later Gibbs had reappeared on that same camera and returned back to the rental car. The portion of the street where the vehicle had been parked was shadowed due to a lack of streetlights. But it appeared he had opened the trunk and was there for a moment. The detail of what exactly he was doing was obscured by the dim lighting and the distance between the camera and the rental.
During this time the Jeep had driven by and turned right onto Cross Court. The positioning of the camera had not allowed for a clear shot of Cutter getting into Jeep, only the vehicle driving along the street.
Gibbs had gotten in the car and stayed there for a moment. Then a Chevy Silverado had driven into frame and followed after the Jeep. Gibbs had exited the car, gone to the storefront where he left the coffee cup they had found and returned to the car. He then tore off in the rental after the other two vehicles.
That had all taken place hours ago and there was no sign of the team lead. His cell went straight to voicemail. And tracking GPS on the phone had been unsuccessful as well. Tim didn't know if there was GPS or any other kind of locator in the rental vehicle Gibbs had been driving. The car company wouldn't open for another hour according to their website. And the senior field agent had been unable to track down and get in touch with anyone who worked there in the meanwhile.
At these thoughts Tim rubbed the palm of his hand down over his face. Gibbs had gone all lone wolf and pursued Cutter and St. Clair by himself. McGee supposed he shouldn't have expected anything less but it didn't make the knot in his stomach unravel any. So much could have happened in those intervening hours and so far they had nothing solid to go on and run down.
God, he wished Tony were there. Tony never failed to see something more in a seemingly insignificant irrelevant piece of the story which then jumped started them. He never failed to take action. At the moment Tim wouldn't have even minded that Tony would have been sure to repeatedly remind everyone that he had been the one to find something.
It struck him suddenly how silly the logic of that thought had been. The whole reason they were here in the first place was because Tony was gone. Gone. Tim had grown to loathe that word.
Turning back to the view of the cityscape and the dark bay he bowed his head, letting his forehead rest on the cool glass of the window pane. He felt paralyzed, helpless. If he could only breath and think straight. There must be some piece in the jumbled up mess of the last couple days that would help him find Gibbs.
The growing tightness in his chest made him remember that he needed to breath at least a little and he inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly for several cycles while focusing on the city streets on the other side of the glass.
Finally feeling somewhat refocused Tim turned away from the window to face the interior of the room again. Knowing where to start had on occasion been his sticking point so he had come to find he simply had to pick something and dig in.
"Java Jim's," he said as it was the first thing to pass through his thoughts that he could grasp onto. There had to be something in the information Gibbs had scribbled on that coffee cup that would uncover a lead. They would just have to find it and fast.
Taking one last look around Tim headed through the doorway that connected the team lead's room to his own.
"Anything?" he asked Moore who sat in front of a laptop at the table near the window. Before stepping next door to take a breath and clear his head Tim had hacked into Daniel St. Clair's cell phone records. Tim had left Moore to review them. McGee at that point had barely been able to see straight from staring at the computer for so long and Ro had a knack for scanning a lot of information quickly and having details and patterns leap out at him.
"Well, a lot of calls to his police headquarters and the cell phone number of an Ethan Nickerson. I looked him up and he's also a detective. Based off the frequency and consistency of those Nickerson is likely his partner. The other most frequent number is an Andrew St. Clair. Checked on him too. Looks to be a younger brother. There are some significant gaps where Detective St. Clair goes silent. They are often around the same times of day and on the same days of the week but not sure yet what it means. The last call was made a few hours ago at 02:42 hours."
"Nearly three hours after he chased after Cutter. Who was he calling?" Tim asked.
"Number belongs to a Sam Renner."
"What do we have on Renner?" McGee inquired. To this Moore looked to Ziva who was seated on one of the beds at another laptop.
"Moore only just now gave me the name but so far I have that the phone number is a mobile registered to a business account for Sam's Salvage & Towing."
"Calling a tow company in the middle of the night after a car pursuit. Don't think I like the sound of that," McGee replied.
"It's the only call he made after he took off after Cutter. So yeah it doesn't bode well for how that chase ended," Moore added. Tim quickly jumped in to rebut it.
"Yeah but whose car was the one towed? Just because St. Clair made the call doesn't mean that he caught up to Cutter and that it was Cutter's vehicle that needed the tow. St. Clair could have needed it for his own truck."
To this Moore simply looked at him with an expression asking whether Tim actually believed what he was saying. And Tim knew the expression was warranted. He was grasping desperately at thin straws of hope that Cutter had escaped St. Clair and The Wheel. If the Boss was right, which was pretty much a given, then Cutter was an important link to finding those responsible for what happened to Tony. But Tim wasn't quite ready to admit that they had lost their chance at Cutter, at least not admit it outwardly yet.
"Let's find out shall we?" Tim stated and with a shooing gesture of the hand instructed Moore to vacate the seat in front of the laptop. Moore stood up and Tim slipped in the chair. He immediately took to typing on the keyboard.
"What exactly are we finding out?" Moore inquired as he moved to look over the senior field agent's shoulder.
"If I can hack into the CIA then hacking into the computer system at Sam's Salvage & Towing shouldn't take but a few keystrokes," McGee declared with renewed confidence in his voice.
"You hacked into the CIA?"
"Well, I..."
"Stop! I changed my mind I don't want to know."
"Trust me it's probably for the best you don't."
"Duly noted," Ro stated as he looked on as Tim's fingers flew over the laptop's keyboard.
After only a few minutes had passed the senior agent stopped typing and stared in disbelief at what was on the computer screen. But the disbelief rapidly shifted into frustration.
"I don't believe this. This was it. This was our lead. This can't be right. It can't be."
"What is happening?" Ziva inquired as she got up off the bed and came over to where Moore and McGee were at the table.
"It's what's not happening. There's nothing," Ro informed her.
"Nothing?" she responded as if she had never heard the word before. McGee was the one to break the news to her.
"There is no trace of either vehicle in the computer system at the tow company. It's as if St. Clair never even called them."
"Perhaps this is why he called that company specifically, do you not think? Maybe St. Clair called in some favors or oiled a few fingers so there was no record," Ziva suggested.
"It's greased a few palms and I am betting that's exactly what he did. That bastard!" Tim grumbled while still staring at the computer screen.
"Well, he is a member of The Wheel. It is not all that surprising, McGee," she tossed back at him.
"Ziva, I know. I just...I wanted...dammit! Why couldn't there have been something."
"Guys?" Moore attempted to grab their attention with. But it was as if he had not even spoken when Ziva continued speaking to Tim.
"There will be other leads, McGee. You act like you are giving up. Is that it, McGee, are you giving up on Gibbs?"
"No, Ziva, I am in no way, shape or form giving up on Gibbs. How could you think that? But as agent in charge for the moment it is my responsibility to lead this team in finding him and I am not exactly doing a stellar job of it right now. Every minute we lose on dead ends is another minute Gibbs is out there counting on, no expecting, us - me - to find him."
"Guys," Moore interjected for a second try at gaining their attentions. And failed once again.
"There has to be something. We simply keep eliminating possibilities to find it!" Ziva firmly stated.
"I know. I'm sorry I snapped at you."
"It is understandable. And I am sorry for asking if you had given up. It was uncalled for."
"Uh. Hey guys!" Ro stated firmly and much more loudly this time.
"What is it Moore?" McGee nearly snapped finally acknowledging the other agent.
"I was thinking. About when I was going over those phone records for St. Clair's cell."
"What about 'em?"
"Two things. First, for every call on that cell I could account for either who called him or who he called. They were all legit calls. Police headquarters. Family members. Mundane every day stuff like dentist appointments. There weren't any numbers that weren't easily identified or that, well, as Abby would say that were hinky."
"Okay. Go on," Tim encouraged him.
"Second, as I mentioned before St. Clair had certain days of the week or month or times of the day where he would go silent and not have a single call in or out. And many of those were extended periods of time. The rest of the time he is on his phone constantly. It's not consistent with his usual calling patterns."
Moore barely got the last word out before Tim jumped in. His voice upbeat with realization.
"He has a second cell phone! If he's a member of The Wheel he'd have a phone specifically for Wheel business. Good thinking, Moore."
"Well, yes, a second phone but that wasn't my point."
"Then what?" Ziva inquired.
"Guys, I think St. Clair made a mistake."
"How so?"
"He used his legit phone to make the call to the tow company. If he was having Cutter's vehicle towed or god forbid Gibbs' rental then he wouldn't want to advertise it and have a record of it. It was like Tim said it would be Wheel business. I think he screwed up and grabbed the wrong phone to make the call."
After a silent beat of pondering McGee spoke up.
"That combined with the fact he had an eight minute call with Sam's Towing but there's no record of either vehicle or even that their tow truck left their garage on a run. Not a coincidence."
"If he made one mistake then perhaps he's made others. We just have to find them!" Ziva added. Tim immediately reacted.
"That's it. I'm not waiting for that stupid rental company to open. We're going to find out right now if our rental had a locator," he declared and returned to typing away at the computer. There was something to this. He knew it. It would have been so much simpler if they could have put out a BOLO on the vehicles hours ago but they had decided it was too risky since a member of The Wheel could see it and as a result any trace of the vehicles would have likely vanished. So at this point Tim was clinging with all he had to the hope that the rental Gibbs had been driving had an electronic tracking device or similar system.
"Where's the receipt on the rental? I need the plate," McGee requested as he keyed his way to connecting to Portsmouth Ready Rental's computer system. He could hear Moore move behind him and walk over to the dresser. Tim's gaze remained on the monitor but he could hear Ro rummaging around in the backpack that stood on top of the dresser in search of the papers.
"Got it!" Moore announced after a moment.
"Alright I'm in. What's the plate?"
"New Hampshire plate. Eight. Three. Five. Delta. Yankee."
The room fell silent spare the sound of Tim's typing. After a long tense moment Ziva's patience had waned.
"So?" she inquired. Tim's fingertips slowed in their movements over the keyboard as he replied.
"So...I think I love this car rental company."
"Why is that McGee?" Ziva asked, hopefulness saturating her voice. She looked from the computer screen to Tim.
"Because every last one of their vehicles has a locator system. A good one that their computer system routinely touches base with via a sort of ping set up. Most car companies don't have anything this sophisticated. Some don't have anything at all."
"So this means we can find the rental, no?" she inquired.
"Well, I can find the location of the car at the last ping. To run a manual locate outside their automated set up I need a pass code. I haven't been able to find the codes yet. But let's see where the last check in put the car.," Tim answered. His typing picked up pace again as he continued to delve more deeply into their systems. A moment later he stopped typing and grabbed the pen that was nearby on the table. He also snatched up one of the napkins left over from their pizza delivery. He glanced at the computer screen and then started copying down information onto the napkin. When he finished he handed the note to Moore.
"Look up these coordinates. Our rental was there at 03:00 hours. I'm going to see if I can get the pass codes so we can do a manual ping to see where the vehicle is now," Tim stated and returned to typing. Moore quickly moved to the laptop on the bed which Ziva had abandoned earlier. It did not take him long to look up the coordinates.
"Okay, got it. It was on Route 302 near the intersection with Stone Ridge Road in North Windham."
"Wait! Route 302? Windham?" Ziva questioned.
"Yeah. What about it?" Moore asked as she came over to look at the laptop he was stationed at.
"When I looked up the phone for Sam's Salvage the address was off Route 302 in Windham Center."
"All roads lead to Sam's Salvage and Towing apparently," Moore commented.
"Finally a real lead! We should head out there!" she stated determinedly looking over to Tim who had stopped typing on the computer and turned towards them.
"We will but not yet," he replied and got up from his seat.
"We should not wait on this, McGee. The information is already hours old."
"I couldn't find the pass codes. They must be kept separately. We don't know for certain it's there. So I want to dot a few Is and cross a few Ts first. Moore, do think you can handle trying to see if we can find any other cell phones that are consistently near in location to St. Clair's legit cell. Same tower and around the same times as the most recent phone calls St. Clair made. Gibbs' note on the coffee cup said St. Clair plus two. I take that to mean there were two other people in that Silverado when it followed Cutter. Maybe we can get a lead on one of their identities by using their proximity to St. Clair. They were traveling with St. Clair so maybe one of them made a call on their phone. Or maybe we can hit upon St. Clair's second phone."
"On it."
"If you get stuck I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Ziva, call Abby. Tell her we need her to start searching for St. Clair's truck. Traffic cam systems. Toll booths cams. Any place that might have a camera in and around the city which might have caught a glimpse of his vehicle. We need to find St. Clair. Tell her if she needs help getting into anything I can talk her through it. Give her St. Clair's bio and vehicle information. Anything she can find on him or the vehicle and as quickly as possible. Also ask for any update she or Ducky may have from the Davis case."
"Should you not be the one to call in the event she needs the walk through on accessing the cameras?" Ziva inquired.
"I have another call to make. We need warrants pushed through. I'm going to try and make that happen. Once we have those we're heading over to Sam's Salvage and Towing. Tell Abby to let you know if she wants help. If she does I can call her back when we're on the road. Moore can drive," Tim replied.
"We will get there much faster if I drive!" Ziva declared.
"That's true. But it's also true that I would prefer to be alive when we get there," McGee responded. Before Ziva could challenge it the senior field agent slipped back through the doorway into Gibbs' empty room.
He shut the door and pulled his phone from his pocket. After making a selection from his contact list he put the phone to his ear. Two rings later it was answered. He took a deep steadying breath and then responded to the greeting the person on the other end had given him.
"Agent McGee for the Director."
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The scent of the ocean was heavy in the air. With his eyes still closed Leroy Jethro Gibbs let himself linger in the hazy memories the smell triggered in him. Flashes, snapshots, of memories cascaded through his mind.
A crisp white mainsail snapped playfully against the wind. A mast towered overhead, straight and strong. The wooden rim of a boat's wheel skimmed by under his fingertips. The sun baked teak of the deck radiated warmth underneath his feet.
The images brought on intense sensations in their wake. He could feel the summer sun on his face and the gentle breeze on his bare skin and through his hair. A deep warmth and uplifting sense of freedom filled him.
The individual isolated snapshots began to connect to one another and they are no longer flashes but a continuous stream of sight, sound, and feeling.
He stands at the helm of the sailboat. The wind is in his favor and the wheel feels solid and smooth in his hands. He leans his head back and peers up into the sky. The sun is high and strong and there is crystal clear blue as far as the eye can see.
It is when he lowers his gaze to the sea that the warmth and freedom are snatched away. The water is a deep crisp cold blue. He stares down into it, unable to tear his gaze away even though he desperately wishes to do just that. And then the images deteriorate from a fluid stream back into disconnected flashes of memory.
The sail rippling in the wind is replaced with a glimpse of the bay that he visits each and every year on October 17th. The tall mast is replaced by the bridge that spans that bay. The wooden wheel is replaced with his view of a memorial service as he stands at the back of the church. The sun baked wood deck is replaced by the image of the lost and grief stricken faces of his team as they look upon a photo display which is set up at the front of the church. A collection of photographs of a man now four years gone.
Then the mental snapshots come in rapid succession. At first it is the still photographs from the memorial display. The smiling face of Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo flashes in his mind's eye. The younger man's hair is a warmed shade of brown under the sun and there is a mischievous glint in his green eyes. The sun behind him makes his tall frame nearly glow around the edges.
Rapidly the still snapshots are exchanged for actual memories of Tony flooding in. The ones which rush into his mind are not particularly significant or sentimental. They are odd placed and amidst all of them several stand out more vibrantly than the rest.
The first is of finding Tony in that car at the ending of his undercover work with Jeffrey White. Then being in Cartagena, Columbia at the medical examiner's office and Tony reading the autopsy results in Spanish. Next comes the time they had gone out to an Italian restaurant and DiNozzo had ordered in Italian to impress a pretty waitress. Then DiNozzo in the bullpen rambling on about spy tricks used in movies. Something about hiding weapons in ordinary objects, like books.
The next snippet of memory struck him as strange, especially since he hadn't really recalled it until now. While on a run, only days before Tony was gone, he had spotted DiNozzo and Fornell seated in a sedan having an intense debate about something. Gibbs never let on that he had seen them. Their secretive meeting had seemed odd at the time since he had not known of Tony's undercover work within The Wheel until Fornell had arrived at NCIS to inform them of what had happened to their agent. Both men had hid it well. At this thought anger welled up inside him as the flashback lingered in his mental sight.
But even more strange was that it was replaced with a more recent memory – one from back in those woods. The flashlight illuminated glimpses of Jack Cutter he had managed to get presented themselves repeatedly in his mind. In particular, the memory of watching Cutter and his captors from his hiding spot. The voice of the older captor tears through his mind. He's a god damn traitor fed!
The man's voice is then replaced by Tim's. And suddenly he's right back on their phone call from the day prior. Their conversation returns to him loud and clear.
"You notice anything about the people on that list?"
"Uh. Well. They are all men. No women."
"Yeah. True. What else?"
"I guess there's some characteristics that repeat. Lot of brown hair, green eyes and tall."
As quickly as Tim's voice had come it vanished.
Another familiar voice takes its place.
The sudden mental echo of Tony's voice from another time and place crying out "On your six!" sends him crashing over the threshold between the inside of his own head and the world outside of it. How many times had he heard his second in command cry out those words in the past and now they were coming back to haunt him for some reason. As the surreal haze faded and reality crashed in a bolt of pain arrived with it. It struck him so acutely he gasped and opened his eyes. His gaze darted around the place he found himself in.
He realized that the sensation of being on the sailboat then the stream of memories must have been the mixed up mental slush that comes with semi consciousness. But the memories and the echo of Tony's voice clung to him tightly.
In particular, the sound of Tony's voice felt so real almost as if it was still actually reverberating in his eardrums like he had heard it more recently than the four years gone by. This triggered a realization, something his mind he had not sifted out before.
Just before he had felt that bullet tear into his shoulder someone had cried out to warn him. Had they really yelled out "On your six!" or had he imagined those particular words of warning? The only possible person it could have been was Cutter.
He concentrated on that moment in his mind and attempted to hear the words and the voice more clearly through the mental fogginess. But the only voice that came through was Tony's. But that couldn't be, could it? It was his mind playing tricks on him and cruel ones at that.
He couldn't entertain the thought anymore. He couldn't bear to indulge in the direction his thoughts were leading him. Because his mind kept insisting on playing out that moment in woods with Tony present in it. He forcefully pushed away the impossible connections and conclusions his mind seem to want to march him towards.
His mind raced to come up with what had really happened instead of the desperate wishful thinking that seem to have consumed it. His heart had already started to ache in the fleeting moment he had allowed himself to think on it. And pushing away the thought had lessened that pressure some. So he began to think on recalling more details of the rest of the time in those woods.
But he didn't have long to ponder on it since in his growing alertness he sensed that someone was in the room with him. As he started to turn his head to the side to visually search for them the person spoke up, breaking the quiet.
"Well, the good news is that you were out for most of it. Bad news is that it's going to hurt like a son of a bitch," a voice stated calmly. Jerking his head to the right Gibbs found its source, Daniel St. Clair. Gibbs' gaze noted the latex gloves he wore and the packets of bandages in his hands. Seemingly having noticed the direction of the NCIS agent's gaze the detective spoke again.
"What? No thank you for patching you up?" he inquired. Gibbs went to lodge a verbal retort but found his voice had deserted him. He swallowed down hard to try again which lead to a harsh cough arriving. His throat was sore and dry from lack of use and lord only knew what else. A bitter taste filled his mouth. At the last half of that thought Gibbs checked how he felt and realized something.
"What'd you give me?" he questioned.
"Sedative."
"How long since the woods?"
"What difference does it make?" the detective shot back.
"It matters to me, you bastard!" Gibbs retorted sharply.
"Hey now! Is that really the way to address the guy who fixed up the bullet hole in that shoulder of yours. I wasn't even the one who shot you in the first place."
"Still a bastard. You don't want to hear the names I have for the other guy," Gibbs grumbled while attempting to shift to a more comfortable position on the bed he had found himself laying on. But it turned out a difficult endeavor to achieve considering his good arm was handcuffed to the bed post.
To this remark St. Clair let out a snort. Gibbs seemed to get the sense that the detective was amused which meant it was likely St. Clair wasn't particularly partial to the shooter himself. He decided he should test that theory.
"What? No defense for your partner?" he inquired quietly while continuing to take inventory of his present situation.
"Let's just say from what I've seen so far he has a lot to learn. But he's a ..."
"A member of The Wheel," Gibbs interjected, completing the sentence for the detective.
"I was going to say he's a kid. He's still one hundred percent action and zero percent thought."
"Sure you were."
"I really don't have to explain myself to you."
"Like hell you don't! How about assault and kidnapping of a federal agent. Just the tip of the iceberg I'm sure seeing as you're a member of The Wheel. They aren't known for their compassion and mercy. Is Cutter even still alive?"
"In case you haven't noticed yet you're in no position to be making demands or interrogating anyone. Take a look around! You're injured, restrained, and on a boat already out on the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Oh yeah and you're outnumbered."
"You do this and you'll regret it. One hundred percent guarantee it," Gibbs responded. His voice coolly confident but still carrying a bite to it.
"What I do or don't regret isn't really your concern. We all make choices. We're all indebted to someone else. We do what we have to. That's life."
"This really the life you envisioned for yourself the day you entered the police academy or on your first day on patrol or the day you made detective? I find it hard to believe that this, what you're doing now or what went down in those woods, is what you wished for yourself on those days."
"Again. It's none of your damn business."
"Maybe not. But I didn't exactly hear a denial in there anywhere either."
"That sedative won't dull the pain much longer. There won't be another one. I had a hard enough time convincing Greene to let me give you that one while I fixed up your shoulder. Oh but I guess you already knew that seeing as you believe you have me all figured out!" the detective stated with a sharp edge to his tone. Before Gibbs could even respond St. Clair had ripped the gloves from his hands, trashed them and exited the room. Gibbs clearly heard the lock being clicked into place on the outside of the door.
"Bastard." Gibbs commented to the empty room around him.
An inspection of his surroundings confirmed that the detective had been right about one thing. They were on a boat by the look of the small wood paneled cabin room he was in and the sound and vibration of an engine and the sensation of motion underneath him. There was a small porthole type window up high on the wall above the bed he lay on. He could see that it was day now and it was overcast.
In his current position he couldn't see anything but sky though. He would have to maneuver into a different position to achieve a better angle despite the restraint on his wrist. He needed to confirm if the other part of what St. Clair had said was also true. Were they out at sea?
The residue of the sedative in his system made his limbs heavy and sluggish to respond but he managed to first sit up then make it up onto his knees on the bed. The movement it had taken to do so had sparked an intense throbbing in his shoulder. He knew he had to get up to a near standing position on the bed in order to see out the window fully. If he was going to assess his situation and form a plan he had to confirm where they were. St. Clair could have lied. They could be within sight of land or even still in the harbor.
With his good arm handcuffed to the bed post he was forced to use the bad one to push himself up to be standing on the bed. The new height also pulled on his handcuffed arm to its limits and made the cuff dig into his wrist. He squeezed his eyes closed and breathed through the pain the use of the injured arm inflicted upon him. After a moment it settled back to just the throbbing once again. He opened his eyes and found he was now level with the little round window.
"Dammit!" he spat out in frustration. St. Clair had been telling the truth. Even though it was overcast there was no fog or rain yet. His view was unobstructed.
And there was nothing but cold gray water for miles and miles.
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Every fiber of Tony's battered body pulsed with pain. Any attempt to shift at all to alleviate some fraction of agony in one area of his body only caused the agony in another to increase tenfold. This last move to try to take pressure off his injured left leg had resulted in a fiery eruption of pain through his chest leading every bruised and broken rib to make their presence well known. Every breath he took only magnified its severity.
Bouts of shivering came and went in waves. The cool temperature and moist air in the room prevented his clothing from completely drying out. They certainly weren't as soaked as they had been right after he had his little dip in that stream. But they were still slightly damp against his skin.
Water had also gotten inside his work boots during that whole stream incident. They had barely dried at all. At least it felt that way. He was pretty sure that some lovely shade of deep blue was the current color of his feet.
The whole DiNozzos don't pass out thing was beginning to seem less and less important to uphold. Passing out seemed more and more acceptable, and welcomed, by the second. And it wasn't as if it would be the first time since being captured.
Considering he couldn't recall most of the trek out of the woods Tony had to figure that he had lost consciousness and spent most of the journey back to the roadway that way. That was probably a blessing considering most of what he did remember involved being roughly dragged through the darkened forest by that sorry excuse for a cop and the bastard who had put a bullet in Gibbs.
With his head hung downward Tony could easily see the damaged and dirty state of his jeans. The sections of denim in the knee area were pretty much in shreds and seeing this brought the memory of being dragged back to him more clearly. The cop had been on his left side and the shooter on his right. They each had taken an arm and the cop had grabbed onto the back of his belt to hoist him up slightly and they had proceeded to drag him along through the rocks and roots and leaves on his knees when he wasn't able to stand anymore.
He tried not to think about what they may have done to move him along once he had lost consciousness and gone limp in their hold. Hadn't Greene suggested something about dragging him by his hair? Kind of think of it his head and scalp did ache quite a little bit. But getting beat with a flashlight certainly could have contributed to that. His heart rate quickened at the memory so he mentally shoved it away and focused back on their little trek.
From what little he could remember of the journey back to the vehicles he knew that Gibbs who for the most part seemed to be able to walk under his own power had been marched by Greene up ahead of him and the two henchmen. Seeing Gibbs on his own two feet had meant that the damage from the bullet must not have been too severe and for that he was extremely grateful. But it made Tony wonder if Gibbs had even had the opportunity to realize it was him. He supposed it was possible that if Gibbs hadn't figured it out yet or hadn't seen him then perhaps Greene had told him.
Tony worked to focus through the throbbing in his head to remember what had happened after the woods. There was little to go on. His memories were fewer and farther between meaning he must have passed out and stayed that way for longer periods of time as they had progressed. The one thing he had come up with that resurfaced clearly was being tossed into the bed of a truck rather unceremoniously with all the care afforded a sack of potatoes.
He had fragments of memory of being in the back of the truck with the cop. He supposed that made sense since if they were spotted or on the off chance pulled over the man would be right there to flash his badge and tell whomever spotted them that he had everything under control.
Tony knew for sure it had been only him and the officer in the back which meant Gibbs must have been placed in the cab - at least he prayed that was the case. He desperately searched through the collective glimpses of memory to recall if he had seen Gibbs after the woods. His chest tightened as he cycled through what he could remember with several passes and came up empty handed.
Greene wouldn't have bothered to march Gibbs through the woods only to finish him off up near the roadway. That didn't make any sense. Tony closed his eyes and tried to think positively which ended up mostly as pleading and praying.
But he had clearly been out of it most of the time so there was a strong chance that Gibbs had been there but just not in sight when he had come around. He had to cling to that belief if he was going to make it very long held hostage by William Tucker Greene and also, as he suspected, ultimately being brought before The Hub. He had to have some sliver of hope to carry with him to fuel his fight.
It was unlikely he would make it out of this alive considering his already injured state but Gibbs might have a solid chance at escape if they were focused on Tony himself. If Tony could hang on he might be able to give Gibbs a window in which to free himself. And if Gibbs hadn't realized that he was alive, that he was Jack Cutter, then all the better.
Unless it had happened while Tony had been out cold Gibbs had not had the chance to see his face clearly. So it was likely that Gibbs didn't know he was alive. If it remained that way then when The Wheel disposed of him Gibbs and the team would never have to know he had been alive these past four years. It would spare them the guilt of not having been able to prevent it.
There were only two things which could blow that scenario playing out. The first was that damn letter. He should have never given it to Fornell. He should have burned it to a crisp. Hell, he never should have written the damn thing in the first place. What had he been thinking?
He hadn't been going to give it to the FBI agent and he held fast to that resolve all through their conversation and then even as they made their way down the stairs and along the hallway. But his grasp on that resolve had slipped as he stood there at that back doorway, knowing that it was likely the last time he would ever see anyone from his old life. He had quickly snatched the paper from his jacket pocket and held it out to Fornell all in one swift motion before he could change his mind. It had been a horribly weak moment – a huge mistake. If Fornell gave it to the team they would learn he had been alive all these years.
The second thing that could unravel the scenario was Greene. The man took great pleasure in toying with people. While still undercover with The Wheel Tony had witnessed the head games he played with those around him. There was a fair chance that Greene would use the connection between he and Gibbs to test them, manipulate them or to just flat out torture them. The key to his game would, of course, be that Gibbs would find out Greene had him, not Jack Cutter but him, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.
Then after all that played out Greene and the other Wheel leaders would likely order A Knotting, a highly secretive and brutal ritual. It was The Wheel's extremely twisted version of a trial for offenses such as treason against the organization. From the whispers about it Tony had heard from other Spokes while undercover, A Knotting made the Salem witch trials seem solidly grounded in scientific principles and extremely light handed on the defendants.
At the time Tony had hoped it was nothing more than rumor or some kind of urban legend type thing within the organization. But over time bits and pieces of evidence of its actual existence had convinced him it was not rumor but a very real part of The Wheel's traditions.
A Knotting required as many of the high leaders present as possible and in some cases all of them which would take a bit of time to make happen considering they were spread all over the country and even the world. If he could just stay alive until the ritual this whole thing might only cost one life – his own. And wasn't that why he had allowed Anthony D. DiNozzo Jr. to be laid to rest and departed D.C. four years ago as Thomas Joseph Corey? Hadn't it been to protect others from suffering the consequences of what he and Fornell set in motion?
Noises of someone approaching the room where they had him secured tore Tony from exploring those questions any further. For an instant he considered feigning unconsciousness but figured it might be best just to face what was coming.
He did keep his head hung down so his gaze was fixed on the top portion of his legs and the wood floor. But this decision was more about the awkward position he was secured in more than anything. He was on his knees which was extremely uncomfortable considering the abuse his legs and kneecaps had taken being dragged through a forest and all. Both of his arms were over his head and attached to a metal railing secured to the wall above him. The strain on his arms made moving his head a bad idea since every time he moved his head it tugged on his raised arms which in turn jostled his damaged ribs. So his head remained hung as the door to the room was unlocked and he heard three sets of footsteps enter and approach him.
"In the chair!" Greene's voice ordered. It was followed by Tony's bound hands being released from the chain which attached them to the railing. The release was sudden and with his body too weakened to be able to balance quickly enough he collapsed forward onto the floor. He landed in a unruly heap with his hands, still secured together with both handcuffs and rope, pressed down underneath his body.
Before he even had time to begin to right himself two sets of hands yanked him up and half dragged half slid him across the wooden floor of the small room to a metal chair. They dropped him down in the seat and while one held a rather well sharpened knife to his throat the other secured his hands, legs, ankles and upper body to the chair with a combination of rope and chain.
His gaze now lifted he could see that the one locking him down so ridiculously and thoroughly as if he were Superman was the cop. And based off the tattoo on the wrist of the one holding the knife the other was Gibbs' shooter. He recalled the tattoo from their lovely little stroll through the woods together. Tony looked up at Greene who stood a few feet away.
"What's next? Bringing out the Kryptonite? Handcuffs, ropes, chains. I have to say I'm flattered that you feel that's all necessary," Tony commented.
"I assure you it bears no reflection of my assessment regarding your level of ability to attempt escape," Greene replied coolly.
"Oh so you just have a little fetish for bondage then? You always did have that vibe about you!" Tony remarked with a smirk. Greene did not respond verbally but simply fixed him with a disgusted glare. Tony met the stare and for a long beat they simply had a sort of visual stand off.
Much to Tony's dismay he was the one to break it when the cop who was securing his upper body to the chair gave a yank to tighten the rope and Tony couldn't help but squeeze his eyes closed for a moment as the rope dug into his damaged ribcage.
"St. Clair?" Greene prompted.
"He ain't going nowhere," the cop replied as he straightened up and surveyed his handiwork.
"Very well. Sutton you may stand down," Greene stated firmly but calmly. The blade of the knife was removed from Tony's throat and the man who had been standing behind him holding it stepped around the chair.
The dimness of the forest and Tony's injured state had not afforded him a clear look at the person who had put a bullet in Gibbs before this. It turned out that Sutton was barely out of boyhood, very early twenties at best. In fact, he was not exceptionally tall and rather scrawny by the looks of him. The only thing that indicated this kid was any kind of threat to anyone was the bottomless frigidity which Tony saw in his gray eyes. Tony had only seen that kind of hollowness in the eyes of the few true stone cold killers he had encountered.
"Leave us!" Greene instructed. Sutton hopped to immediately and practically soldier marched from the room. The cop who Greene had called St. Clair left more casually. The glance between the two that occurred as St. Clair passed Greene by did not go unnoticed by Tony. If he was reading it correctly St. Clair had thrown him a "we need to talk" kind of look. Apparently, St. Clair was not the unquestioning soldier that that little bastard Sutton was. Once they departed Tony looked Greene up and down and felt the urge to comment on his findings.
"Long time no see, Greene. New wardrobe huh? Gotta say the whole button down shirt and khakis business casual thing doesn't really suit you. I'm thinking an orange prison jumpsuit look would fit you much better."
"Never happen," Greene responded calmly and matter of factly.
"You're probably right. You are more likely to end up like Devon Davis – wearing a sheet and laid out on one of the autopsy tables in the morgue at NCIS headquarters. Just so you are aware those teeny weeny sheets don't cover much. Mind as well be wearing a wash cloth. And those tables let me tell you I have hopped up on them once or twice and talk about cold. And you know what cold can do to a guy. Not that you probably have much to begin with and you'll be dead anyway so..."
"Enough with the chatter. It's not going to delay anything you have coming."
"Oh that's what you thought I was trying to do! Let's clear that up right here and now. You may scare the crap out of your little subordinates in The Wheel but I'm not in the Wheel and I am certainly not scared of you. You are not worth my fear."
"Errors in your judgment on all accounts. You should have taken our very generous offer of joining us for real when we discovered your true agenda. It was a one time offer which is long past its expiration. And you will soon learn it is unwise not to fear me."
"Offer? You call that an offer. That was a threat. A clear cut ultimatum wrapped in a huge threat and tied up with a very twisted bow."
"I don't view it as such. You see it that way because you are short sighted and unenlightened. It was an offer. An opportunity."
"If I didn't align with The Wheel for real and prove my allegiance with one of your demented, not to mention horrific, assignments you threatened to kill my friends and their families! That's not an offer. It's sick and twisted."
"I did no such thing. I was merely sharing my creativity with you when I had those photographs delivered to you over the course of those weeks."
"You are warped beyond any current definition of the word if you think that a photo taken of Abby Sciuto's kitchen in which if you look way down in the bottom corner at the very edge of the image you'll find something very disturbing is an expression of creativity. Staging a photo to show, barely visibly I might add, frayed wires sticking out of an outlet and oh there just happens to be a box of matches sitting out on the counter is demented. And that one of Sarah McGee's car with the barely noticeable drops of gasoline on the ground underneath of it. That's not creativity. It's psychotic."
"Just pictures of a kitchen I found interesting and a car that caught my eye. But I admit those weren't my best work. I was only getting started on the collection at that point. I'd say right around the time I got to that autopsy assistant - what's his name – oh yes Palmer – by the time I was working on that photograph of those very treacherous stairs in the poor man's basement I was truly getting in touch with self expression. I mean that photograph captured the essence of that staircase so vividly – so crisply and acutely. And the sharp contrast in the lighting and angles with the steep rickety stairs at the top cloaked in shadow and that light colored concrete floor at the bottom. I mean it screamed tragedy, yes I am afraid, an accident waiting to happen."
"Cut the crap Greene. They were threats. Masking them in something that could be bullshited as innocuous doesn't change that."
"Let's pretend that's true. They are nothing that would hold up in court. Or likely anywhere else for that matter. What you saw in them was a product of your own paranoia and nothing more."
"What I saw in them was the reason you are going to end up in the morgue at NCIS laid out on a table next to Davis."
"Your thinking was always a little out of left field. But since you brought it up let's talk about NCIS shall we?" Greene stated. It was never intended as a question. The man was acting as if they were having a normal conversation during a social visit and like Tony's presence had been completely voluntary. So he remained silent and simply glared at Greene.
And in his delusional head Greene appeared to take it as encouragement to continue with their so called re-acquaintance. For a tense moment he wandered the room. His posture stiff. His stride slow and deliberate. His hands clasped together behind his back. His gaze focused on the wood floor in front of his feet. His tanned features taunt with something Tony would have sworn was restrained eagerness.
Tony continued to glare at him while his gaze followed Greene's movements around the small room. He would rather have displayed indifference than disgust but the memory of all those stacks and stacks of photographs threatening his friends had invaded his mind and the red hot anger from all those years ago had reignited.
Tony could feel the heavy thump of his heart all the way up in his throat when Greene meandered his way out of his line of sight. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when the steady rhythm of Greene's footfalls stopped and silence seized the air of the room. Tony could feel Greene's presence looming over him from behind the chair in which he was confined.
When Greene leaned down over his shoulder, their heads a mere inch apart, Tony could feel the other man's breath on the skin of his neck. When Greene turned his head slightly to the side that flow of air shifted and skimmed over his ear and cheek.
"What did you pass along? And who did you pass it along to?" Greene whispered. His voice calm and low. The words drawn out and stiffly enunciated.
"I'm not telling you anything," Tony whispered back. His own voice low and hard.
"We'll just see about that. It's amazing what a man will do when he's tired enough, hurt enough, hungry enough, thirsty enough," Greene stated now more than a whisper but still softly. There was a trace of gleeful anticipation layered in his tone.
Greene straightened up so he was no longer leaned over Tony's shoulder. But remained positioned directly behind him. Tony allowed himself to swallow down hard against the dryness in his mouth and throat now that Greene was no longer so invasively close. Then he replied with all the nonchalance he could muster. His voice now normal volume and more animated than when he had last spoken.
"No. What's amazing is that even after all that I still won't tell you a damn thing. Besides I'm already dead, right?"
"Yes, about that. Such a cowardly move."
"You're just upset because I outsmarted you. Don't take it too hard though everyone understands that some simply lack intellectual prowess. It's not your fault. You didn't chose to be an idiot after all."
Tony was banking on that this kind of remark would garner a reaction. If there was one thing that set Greene off it was insult to his intelligence. It was one of the very first things Tony had noted about the Wheel leader when they had first met all those years ago. Maybe he could use his observations from back then to create advantage now. Maybe he could rattle Greene off his game and he'd make a mistake that would be useful.
Everything was still for a few heartbeats. Then Tony could hear that Greene's body shifted and there was another soft noise he couldn't identify which accompanied the movement. But in the next instant Tony realized he had vastly under estimated Greene's reaction.
In one swift motion the other man reached over Tony's head and lightly pressed a length of thin rope into the front of Tony's neck. Greene held it there, the rope stretched out taunt in the space between his fists grasping it on either end. The pressure against his throat caused Tony to gag. He could still breath, at least somewhat.
But then Greene suddenly drew the rope back further towards himself and deeper into the skin of Tony's throat. His air now significantly restricted Tony coughed and gasped struggling to get air down into his lungs. The gasping progressed into wheezing as Greene moved his hands around the sides of Tony's head until the ends of the rope met at the back of Tony's head. By the time Greene had fully encompassed his neck with the rope Tony's lungs were desperate for air. He bucked and fought against the restraints holding his body and, most importantly, his arms to the chair.
As he struggled Greene twisted the ends of the rope together at that base of his skull. The pressure brought spots dancing around in Tony's vision. Another twist by Greene and his vision telescoped into a murky dimness. His body was empty of breath. He found his muscles no longer followed his brain's instructions and his battle against the restraints ceased. Once he was still Greene leaned down over his shoulder again and whispered in Tony's ear. His voice was cold and demanding. Despite feeling himself floating towards unconsciousness Tony heard his words.
"You listen to me you asshole. You will tell me what you know and who you gave the intel to. If you do not I will personally see to it that Agent Gibbs then all of your other little friends will suffer beyond anything their tiny minds could possibly conjure up in their worst nightmares. Have we reached an understanding?"
Greene then let up ever so slightly on the tension in the noose he had around Tony's neck. Tony inhaled and oxygen finally reached his lungs. He could feel Greene shift the ends of the rope so that they were gathered in one hand, freeing up the other. For what, Tony didn't want to guess so he focused on breathing. It didn't take long to find out anyway.
Greene allowed him only two more breaths before his free hand latched onto a handful of Tony's hair. The other man used it to yank his head back so that now Tony was looking up at Greene's face. With the exception of a wince in response to the pulled hair Tony managed to remain outwardly unfazed. The only thing else he offered the man was a fiery glare.
"Have we reached an understanding?" Greene growled and twisted his grip on Tony's hair. Tony licked his dry lips, ensuring his response would not falter when he gave it. Then spoke.
"Go to hell. Cuz it's not gonna happen," Tony snapped back at him. He despised doing it but he had to feign that the people who Greene was threatening to harm meant nothing to him anymore. If Greene bought it then maybe they would be spared.
"Have it your way. Your death could have been a lot more swift and less painful if you had chosen to respond to my questions differently," Greene replied as he roughly released his grip on Tony's hair which tossed his head forward awkwardly. That was followed by the cord being removed entirely from around his neck.
The other man finally moved back into Tony's line of sight, coming around to stand a few feet away near the doorway. He still had the rope in his hands. Tony watched him twirl it around his hand, coiling it up, and then unwrapping it and twirling it back around again. He continued to repeat the process over and over, the loops getting tighter and tighter with each cycle, as Tony looked him straight in the eye and spoke.
"And after I'm dead you still won't know what information I passed along to those who are not indoctrinated into your twisted little organization. Every day you'll be looking over your shoulder, wondering how much they know and how long until they come for you."
"I'm sure the satisfaction of your slow and excruciating death will help me deal with it just fine," Greene replied flatly.
"Just so you know I'm not as easy to kill as you may think. More than a few have tried – and failed. Including the lot of you. Failed. Every last one of you."
"Perhaps that beating I gave you clouded your memory and you forgot I have Agent Gibbs," the other man stated and finally stopped twirling the rope around his hand.
"He has nothing to do with this."
"Oh I think he has everything to do with this. How cooperative or uncooperative you are will determine how well he is treated – how comfortable his stay will be," Greene ground out slowly. After a beat Tony replied, not with the response he wanted to give but with one that he hoped would show the other man indifference.
"Haven't talked to the bastard in four years. I've gotten along just fine without him."
What Tony had really wanted to say was "Over my dead body you son of a bitch!" but he knew that it would only confirm for Greene that Gibbs was a way to get to him.
"If you care so little then why warn him about the rifle aimed at him back in those woods? You seemed to care if he lived or died then."
"Reflex. Years in law enforcement yelling Gun! when one suddenly appears on scene."
"Deflection and half truths. These things come so easily, so naturally, to you don't they, Agent DiNozzo? These qualities say a lot about the caliber of a man and your ability to flow so effortlessly between them shows me as calibers go you are severely lacking."
"Never shoot a large caliber man with a small caliber bullet. Movie quote, Lone Survivor, directed by Peter Berg, starred Mark Wahlberg. Did you catch that one?" Tony inquired.
"Clearly your listening skills are deficient as well. You don't rate large caliber. You are nothing but a liar and a traitor."
"If we review, you'll note that I never said I was referring to myself."
"I tire of your attempts at distracting me from the task at hand."
"I've lost track. What was the task at hand again?" Tony asked while feigning his best confused expression.
"That smart lip of yours will very shortly be a thing of the past. Clearly your father didn't land a hand on you quite enough as a child for you to still have such a smart mouth and lack of respect."
"Maybe he would have if he'd actually remembered I existed more often," Tony proposed after a silent moment of feigned pondering.
"And we come to it. Neglect bred the addiction to attention. Forgotten child to attention hungry adult. Is that why you became a cop? So people would be forced to pay attention to you?"
"I became a cop because of scum like you, Greene."
"So brainwashed into thinking you are the one fighting the good fight. Wake up Agent DiNozzo it's men like me that go down in the history books for molding mediocrity into greatness. Once I am at the helm of The Wheel progress will be made."
"Okay, I bite. I have got to hear what your demented idea of progress is."
"And if you had been true to The Wheel you would have had the privilege of knowing what progress is and being at the forefront of it. But you chose betrayal and stupidity instead so I guess you'll just have to wait and be shown what real progress is and looks like. It is a glorious society where everyone knows their place and the consequences for stepping out of line. A society where there is no tolerance for the weak and insufferably stupid. Oh wait! That's right you won't be alive to see it. As it should be."
"How about the demented like you, Greene? You're delusional if you think anyone is stupid enough to put you in charge of anything. I wouldn't even trust you to count the paperclips in my desk. Remember I was under in The Wheel for quite some time. I know how the members see you. They may cower to at your threats but they know what kind of man you are and how delusional your thinking is."
"Change, Agent DiNozzo. Four years has brought much of it. We have weeded out those that failed to prove that they have true and unwavering belief and allegiance to The Hub - we the leaders of The Wheel. We, the powerful few, who will soon embark upon the one of the greatest political transitions in US history. The groundwork has been laid and the key players are in place. You might say the Wheel is already turning towards progress as we speak – embedded in the fabric of the military and the government to its core."
"Wow! Your nut really is cracked, isn't it? You actually believe this twisted shit you're spewing, don't you?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Such complexities are outside your ability to comprehend. Even if they weren't it's not a matter worthy of pursing since A Knotting has been ordered to deal with your disloyalty. Why bother explaining it to someone whose traitorous life will end in a mere few days. Or perhaps sooner if I deem it necessary."
"Do whatever you want to me, Greene. I really don't give a crap. But know this. The walls are closing in on you. It's only a matter of time before your own delusions end you. And if it takes my dead body to do it. So be it."
"Big talk for someone in your position. Like your smart lip it will soon be a thing of the past. Now if you'll excuse me I need to go pay a visit to my other guest. Agent Gibbs and I have a few things to discuss. I need to break the bad news to him that since Jack Cutter has been so thoroughly uncooperative his stay may not be as comfortable as he might have hoped for. Memorable, yes, but comfortable no."
And with that Greene started twirling the rope around his hand again as he moved to the door. Once there he paused both the twirling and his progress. Without turning around he spoke.
"In case you were wondering. I finally figured out who it was that put you under in our organization. At least he's not a traitor like you. But nonetheless he will be dealt with accordingly."
Barely a heartbeat later Greene had slipped out of the room. His parting statement swirled chaotically around in Tony's mind.
Had Fornell been found out or was Greene just playing games pretending he knew?
Tony closed his eyes and tried to breath. The weight of everything that had transpired over the past few days, hell the last four years, was beginning to crush him. He had to hang on. It was the only chance his team – his friends - had. The problem was he was so drained. So mentally and physically exhausted that his body pulsed with pain, his mind ached for relief, and his heart felt as if it had been torn from his chest while it was still beating.
And if he was brutally honest with himself he was terrified he didn't have enough left in him for it to be long enough for the only casualty to be himself.
o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o
The sound of the door being unlocked from the outside came suddenly. And Gibbs immediately aborted his visual inspection of the room which he had begun in the hope of finding something to use to work on the handcuff around his wrist. The door opened and the man who had appeared to be the leader of this little group, based off what Gibbs had seen back in the woods, entered in. He shut the door and sat down on the edge of the desk which stood beside the doorway. He looked at Gibbs for barely a breath before speaking.
"I don't believe we have been formally introduced. I know all about you, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. But I realize you are at a disadvantage. I have come to correct that."
"I know you are an SOB. Don't need a name to go with the assessment."
"William Tucker Greene. Lieutenant Colonel United States Air Force. Retired. Well, as much as one can be. Once in the Air Force. Always in the Air Force."
"Adding a name and rank doesn't change that you are a royal bastard. And a member of The Wheel."
"Oh! So much more than a member."
"Ah! One of its so called leaders then."
"Such hostility, Agent Gibbs. And at this only our second meeting. What have I done to deserve your ire?"
"You know exactly what you and that screwed up organization of yours did. Cut the shit, Greene. You wouldn't have bothered to come in here unless you wanted something. Just spit it out! What the hell do you want?"
"Oh you have it all wrong. It's about what you want, Gibbs."
"What I want? You want to know what I want? I want you and The Wheel to go to hell! That, you son of a bitch, is what I want."
"It is clear you are of the misguided notion that we are responsible for something of a very personal nature which has befallen you. Tell me Agent Gibbs what is it that you think we have done?"
"You know."
"I don't believe that I do. Our actions all have warranted purpose. The organization does not act frivolously or unnecessarily."
"I am not playing your little game. Not only are you a son of a bitch you are a coward who plays games because he doesn't have the balls to man up to his actions."
"I guess I don't know you as well as I thought, Agent Gibbs. If playing games makes a coward then I guess that must have been what you thought of Agent DiNozzo when he played games infiltrating our organization. Calling your second in command a coward after he gave his life in the line of duty. Perhaps I have miscalculated your standards."
"I am going to end you, you son of a bitch. If it takes me putting you in the ground then bring it on. Your choice."
Greene did not respond verbally. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and let his gaze study the wood floor for a moment. His silence was not angered. He seemed to be feigning pondering or reflecting upon something. But Gibbs saw the act for what it was – more games. The man knew precisely what his next move was going to be. He didn't need to think on it at all. If Greene wanted to play ball then he better be prepared for the strike out he had coming.
Finally Greene lifted his gaze from the floor and looked over to where Gibbs sat on the edge of the bed. The team lead's gut suddenly began churning. There was something in the other man's eyes and expression that was unsettling. Something had shifted or been unmasked in the time he had been looking away. Gibbs was working to figure out exactly what had vanished and what had replaced it when Greene spoke, cutting into the thick silence.
"You know I confess there was something I wanted that made me come in here. I have had the opportunity to spend some quality time with Mr. Cutter. You see since Cutter is the reason you are here in the first place I felt he should be consulted on the particulars of your stay. Unfortunately, for you, he did not seem all that interested in working with me to ensure that your accommodations and treatment had any sort of comfort level. He simply had to give me what I asked him for and you would be adequately attended to. He declined to do so. I have graciously decided to give him one final opportunity. Perhaps he did not truly grasp what he was responsible for. Seeing is believing after all! Isn't that what they say?" Greene stated calmly. When he was finished he reached over and gave a quick double rap with his fist on the wood of the door.
Gibbs could hear movement on the other side of the closed door. There were several people out in the corridor and their movement quickly escalated into what sounded like a scuffle of some kind. It lasted a few seconds then settled. A moment later the door opened.
The younger and smaller of Greene's henchmen from back in the woods appeared in the doorway. The Ruger semi automatic grasped in his right hand and held lowered at his side did not go unnoticed by Gibbs. The kid looked to Greene for further instruction. But Greene continued to focus on Gibbs for a long beat, speaking.
"I wanted both you and Cutter to see precisely what was at stake," he stated.
Looking over to the open doorway he gestured with a wave of his hand to his subordinate. The young man ducked out into the hallway, stepping aside to clear the doorway. He raised his weapon and aimed it at a point out of sight on the opposite side of the door.
Once he was settled Detective St. Clair appeared and proceeded through the doorway. In tow behind him he was dragging along a bound and struggling man into the room. St. Clair was practically pulling him along the floor on his knees due to his refusal to enter the room. He was resisting so wildly that Gibbs couldn't even catch a look at his face. But based off the blond hair and the situation it was undoubtedly Jack Cutter.
As St. Clair dragged the man passed Greene who was still seated on the edge of the desk Greene delivered a swift harsh kick to Cutter. The blow caught him in the side of the head. This subdued Cutter considerably and St. Clair was able to get the man the rest of the way into the room and then roughly deposited him onto the floor beside the bed. He then secured Cutter's bound hands to the metal rail at the bottom of the bed as the injured man settled into a heap on the floor. Gibbs noted that Cutter's legs were also shackled together by way of chains around his ankles.
When St. Clair had finished with the restraint Greene waved him out of the room with his hand and dismissed the younger subordinate with a nod of the head. The young man lowered the weapon he had kept trained on Cutter and along with the detective moved out of sight down the corridor.
"I will give you a few minutes to get acquainted, or reacquainted as the case may be. Time enough so there will be no mistaking exactly what is at stake for both of you. This is your one and only opportunity to choose how this is going to go," Greene stated. He rose from his seat on the desk and exited the room. The lock was clicked into place on the other side of the door as soon as it was closed at his back.
Gibbs looked from the doorway to the man on the floor who had curled himself into a protective ball. His legs were shackled together. His hands were handcuffed together and then chained to the bed. His clothes were practically in tatters, especially his jeans which had been nearly shredded in the knee area. He was covered in grime, most of it looked to be mud. Gibbs could see spattered patches of dried blood on his clothes in various spots. He even had flecks of it in his blonde hair. Said hair was sorely in need of a trim and long enough that it covered his face as the man lay on his side.
With his hands secured to the rail at the bottom of the bed they were clearly visible. Gibbs noted they were banged up. The knuckles on both hands were red and cut up. Probably from back in the woods he surmised. There was deep bruising on the fingers and back of his left hand. The color of the bruises aged them to be maybe a day or so old. The crash in the Jeep was a likely cause.
The entire time Gibbs surveyed Cutter's condition the man had not really moved. The kick to the head Greene had given him had been brutal. It was likely that Cutter was still not fully in his senses. But Gibbs knew their time was limited and ticking away.
Waiting for Cutter to come around on his own might take too long – at least longer than Greene was likely to give them. So Gibbs had to try and rouse him. If Cutter had anything that might help them get out of the situation this might be their only opportunity to communicate it.
The fact that his good arm was handcuffed to the side of the bed nearest Cutter meant Gibbs had enough slack that he could slide off the bed and kneel beside Cutter. Once on the floor he was close enough to speak quietly to the man without startling him. The man had clearly been through hell already so he would do this as gently as possible.
"Hey. Hey Cutter. You with me?" Gibbs urged the other man to respond. Cutter shifted slightly but didn't really come around completely.
After what Cutter had been through combined with the likelihood that the man was an undercover federal agent Gibbs was reluctant to touch him due to the negative response it might evoke. But he was left with little choice if he was going to talk to him before their time ran out.
So Gibbs slowly placed his free hand on the upper portion of the man's left arm and shook him slightly. Cutter jerked in response and gave a hiss of pain. Gibbs realized the arm must have been injured. But the pain reaction was fleeting and in the next instant Cutter began thrashing around in attempt to get away from whoever was touching him. It was all he could do with his hands and feet bound as they were.
Suddenly he bolted upright into a sitting position and scooted back towards the bed and away from the person he had likely just realized was knelt beside him. His flight ended abruptly when his back bumped up against the bed. It seemed to knock the rest of the grogginess out of him and he finally lifted his head in attempt to see the source of the touch he had felt. He found himself staring up into Gibbs' blue gaze.
For the first time since he had begun chasing after Jack Cutter Leroy Jethro Gibbs was gifted a clear view of his face. It was a face riddled with scrapes and bruises. Several areas of it were so swollen, especially his left cheek and the right side of his mouth, that it masked the contours of his features. Specks of dried blood were here and there on his cheeks and temples. He had a busted lower lip. A badly swollen black eye. There were smudges of dirt littering his forehead and face. A few stray wisps of golden blonde hair hung in his face. Stubble thoroughly shadowed his chin and the line of his jaw. Two different colored eyes gazed up at him - one blue and one green. The green barely visible due the half closed swollen lid of his very blackened eye.
For a moment they simply stared at one another. To Gibbs the other man seemed frozen in place by the scrutinizing gaze down at him. And the longer Gibbs stared back, trying to see the face in front of him through all the damage done to it, the more stricken he became as well.
Because as he studied the man and made out his features distinctly through all the dirt and bruises and swelling he realized it was not a stranger looking back at him. The image of the face before him stole the breath from his body. Nearly paralyzed him under the avalanche of emotions the recognition triggered.
For a brief moment his mind denied it. Memory of the bullet wound in his shoulder allowed for the thought that maybe he was hallucinating what he was seeing. Maybe infection and fever had overtaken him.
But it seemed so real. So tangible. He was forced to take action to confirm or deny it. Without even realizing he had done so Gibbs had reached out and gently placed his fingertips under the other man's chin and lifted it up ever so slightly so that they were looking straight on into each others eyes.
The name slipped out from between Gibbs lips before he even thought to speak it.
"Tony?" he whispered in disbelief.
"It's me Boss," his second in command's voice replied quietly.
"You're alive," Gibbs stated breathlessly. The tone made it clear though that the words were more for himself than a response to the other man's words. But to save them both from the uncomfortable display of emotion threatening to overtake them Tony replied anyway.
"Barely. But very observant of you, Boss, for noticing that very slight distinction," he responded. His voice was quiet but his tone more lively than when he had first spoken. His words didn't linger in the air for long though. They were quickly washed away by a powerful wave of emotion that seem to overtake the moment.
Gibbs had long since dropped his fingertips away from under the other man's chin so the sudden need to reconnect took him off guard. Being face to face with Tony and talking to him was so unbelievable, so surreal, he had to test its validity one final time. So even though it elevated the throbbing in his injured arm he reached over and placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. Somehow the physical connection cemented reality into place and he knew once and for all that his second in command, his partner and friend, was really alive and there with him.
He had so much he wanted to say. So many questions he needed answered. But battling back all the emotions flowing to the surface got in the way of finding the words to actually speak them. The silence between them only magnified the emotions and the barrier to the words.
It was Tony's voice, quiet in volume but strong with encouragement, which finally broke apart the silence.
"Boss, say something."
A heavy long beat passed by and then Gibbs finally responded. The faintest of emotional falters in his voice slipped through as he did so.
"You're about four years late for work, DiNozzo." The words were a strange mix of soft and stern in their delivery. A combination only Gibbs could so effortlessly convey. But his features betrayed him by showing an ever so faint hint of a smile. The trace of moisture in his eyes conveyed that his words did not run deep.
"Would you buy that I forgot to set my alarm and overslept?" Tony inquired immediately latching on to the opening for banter over the uncomfortable emotion. The message he conveyed with his eyes was more serious. He silently encouraged the banter and the downplay of emotion. He wordlessly asked the team leader to trust him that they had to put off anything personal they wished to say to one another for later.
Gibbs read the message clearly and pushed down hard on the relief and joy and all of the other things trying to flood their way to the surface.
"Not buying it, DiNozzo," he stated in reply to Tony's oversleeping excuse. Gibbs watched Tony's gaze travel anxiously around the room. He looked back to the team leader after he had visually swept its entirety. Gibbs could tell that he had spotted the camera mounted on the wall in the far corner near the doorway. He had noted it himself earlier in his own inspection of the cabin. By the look in his eyes Tony had come to the same conclusion Gibbs had. There were likely microphones set up in the room to go with the cameras.
"How about I forgot where I work because I started changing identities like you change cups of coffee?" Tony proposed. The mention of the coffee habit earned him a patented Gibbs glare.
"Try again!" the team leader added to the glare. Layered underneath he asked Greene watching us?
"Uh. Well. I did take the scenic route. Think I may have taken a wrong turn on the way in, Boss," Tony verbally replied. In his eyes he answered back affirmatively that it was Greene they were putting on this little show for.
"Oh yeah. Whereabouts?" Gibbs inquired, adding a playful tone to the words. His gaze conveyed the message that he understood this little display was to show they weren't as close, as connected, as they truly were.
"Which time? Charlotte. Atlanta. Louisville perhaps. Birmingham. Branson. Now Branson there was a wrong turn. Okay so there may have been more than one. Got a teensy bit lost, Boss."
"Found ya," Gibbs replied matter of factly as he moved to sit on the floor in front of his agent.
"Thanks Boss. Next time I'll..." Tony started to respond but got abruptly cut off.
"There won't be a next time, DiNozzo." This time the words were one hundred percent genuine seriousness and there was not even so much as the faintest trace of a smile on the senior agent's features. So Tony replied with equal seriousness.
"Good point. I haven't made it through this time yet," he stated and gave Gibbs an intense look. Under clear reluctance to do so Tony allowed the physical pain he was in to surface and flicker on his features and in his eyes just for a breath before hiding it away again.
The message was supposed to tell Gibbs to escape and save himself. That he wouldn't make it as injured as he was. Gibbs read the message in the look but was having none of it. When Tony dropped his head back onto the bed behind him and stared up at the ceiling in a near resigned manner Gibbs grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him back up.
"I said there won't be any of that. Do I make myself clear?" he ground out in a low voice.
"Understood Boss," Tony replied but the words lacked strength and resolve.
"You'd better." Gibbs replied sternly. He was finding it more and more difficult to speak in a hardened tone towards the younger man. In order to communicate silently they had to look each other in the eye and while Tony's messages were getting through loud and clear Gibbs was getting glimpses of other things in the younger man's gaze. Gibbs could see that the stone wall which Tony had built up around himself in order to survive was on the verge of crumbling into a thousand pieces. It struck him acutely at that moment that he had been so lost in his own overwhelming wave of emotion at discovering Tony alive that he had neglected to consider what it had taken for the other man to stay that way all this time. Tony must have been on the run for the past four years – constantly on guard and completely alone.
"Can we go home now?"Tony whispered. All his pain and exhaustion crept through again in his voice. Keeping it masked was clearly becoming harder and harder for him. It weighted the question down making it sound more like a plea than an inquiry. It drew Gibbs to lean in closer to the younger man. His reply ended up no more than a whisper into the other man's ear.
"Yeah Tony. We're going to get out of here. And then we're goin' home. You hear me, DiNozzo, we're both going home."
"Gotcha Boss."
To Gibbs those two words had never sounded so beautiful, so sweet. Because they were said in the voice of someone who he had over the last few years come to believe he would never see or talk to ever again.
To Be Continued...
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Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Author's Note: Explanation where explanation is certainly due. The reason for my absence in posting was twofold. First, due to injury. I seriously injured my neck, upper back, left shoulder and arm in a mountain climbing accident back in October 2013. So the reviewer who asked if I was in the hospital was close since it did involve the emergency room (twice) and other fun things like kick ass meds. I wasn't truly mobile until around February. Second, in March I landed two voiceover artist projects I had auditioned for and those resulted in me working 24/7 for over seven months. My apologies to everyone who has been reading!