Chasing Jack
Chapter Twelve
Tony cried out before he was even fully conscious. Searing white hot pain seized every nerve ending in the back of his neck. He jerked his body forward in attempt to free himself from the unknown source of the assault. But found his movements restrained.
His eyes shot open as the intense pain traveled to a fresh spot lower on his neck and on the skin centered between the upper area of his shoulders. A gasp escaped his lips. His eyes searched his surroundings. He was no longer on the deck out in the cold rainy October air. He was in the cabin room once again. And he was back to being bound to a chair.
"Time to wake up Agent DiNozzo," Greene's voice instructed from behind him.
Tony didn't respond verbally and instead he focused on shifting as best he could to try and elude the origin of the pain. But it followed along as he moved. Greene remained stationed behind him but spoke up again.
"Isn't it curious how pain thresholds vary so widely from person to person? What is nothing to one is beyond excruciating to another. Personally I find levels such as yours rather interesting. You cried out twice while still not thoroughly conscious but now that you are alert you manage to process it inwardly – not allowing yourself to release so much as a curse."
"Ever consider that's because you're not worth verbalizing it to Greene?" Tony grunted out. He wished he could have spoken the words with more composure but to get the words out he had to say them through clenched teeth as he braced his body. The pain fluctuated, arriving more acutely for what felt like an eternity even though it really was likely only a small collection of seconds then dying down slightly to nearly bearable only to spike back up again.
"I see we haven't completely taken care of that smart lip of yours. Or do the words and the tone help you cope with the discomfort you're in?"
Tony wanted to respond but the pain spiked again and all that came out was a near growl.
"Don't hold back on my account Agent DiNozzo. Scream if you want. It's a natural reaction."
"Go to hell Greene!" Tony yelled, anger and frustration unhidden in his tone. A sharp yelp followed after his words. He wasn't able to hold it back as the pain tore through a fresh and particularly sensitive spot on his neck just below his earlobe. He fought against the restraints with renewed vigor even though he knew it was futile.
"See that wasn't so hard to let out was it?" Greene commented as he finally moved into Tony's line of sight. The silver colored lighter in his hand was still open and lit. Its torch flame burned bright and blue. Tony looked at it for a quick heartbeat and then tore his gaze away to stare over at the wall of the cabin. Greene had made sure he had seen it but Tony refused to give away any reaction. What Tony had hoped would show indifference or at least a lack of fear did not come across to Greene that way.
"Cowardly the way you can't even look at it or me. Too weak to face where your own actions have left you."
"No Greene you're just too stupid to get it through that dull brain of yours to realize I'm never you giving you any information. No matter what you do to me."
Greene reacted by reaching out and grabbing Tony by the chin. His fingertips dug into the skin of his cheeks. Greene yanked his head to the right and up so now Tony looked straight into the other man's eyes.
"It is you, Agent DiNozzo, who is altogether not too bright. Too slow to notice I haven't asked you for any."
"Oh well then in that case if there's nothing further I'll just be on my way," Tony tossed out. The smart remarks were becoming more difficult to make with any kind of energy behind them. His anger and pain fueled the creation of the words themselves in his head but pushing them out of his body with any life to them was proving an uphill battle. He was tempted to just stop talking but Tony sensed that Greene would take silence even worse than he handled the smart mouth. So he forced the sarcasm outside himself.
"So very far from over Agent DiNozzo," Greene stated. He still had Tony by the chin, holding his head so it tilted upward. Greene bent down a little further towards him so he now loomed over Tony. With his other hand Greene lifted up the torch lighter and held it in front of Tony's face. Its blue flame only a mere inch from his skin.
"Oh I think we are just getting started. This is just the beginning. So much more to accomplish," Greene added while moving the flame even closer to Tony's skin.
"Ya know you might have a point. I should really get to work on ending you, Greene. I'd really like to accomplish that."
"It is your end which is inevitable Agent DiNozzo. But take no solace in that as your punishment for treachery has only just begun."
With those words Greene moved suddenly lowering the lighter away from Tony's face to the back of his hand. He touched the flame to the skin there and held it. Tony clenched his teeth together hard as the burning sensation burrowed into his hand. He sharply sucked in a breath and only then did Greene finally let up on the flame, extinguishing it, and closing the lighter. He also released his grasp on Tony's chin. Straightening up he stepped back away from Tony and stuffed the lighter into his pants pocket.
Tony glared at him. The pain from the burns mixing with his disgust for the man fueled the look's intensity. Greene simply glared back. All Tony saw in his gaze was smugness and satisfaction. Tony wanted nothing more in the moment to tear the man's head off. Even as exhausted and as injured as he was he would have used every last ounce of energy in him if he could to wipe that arrogant expression off the bastard's face.
Greene shifted his weight a little bit from one foot to the other. The movement drew Tony out of his fantasy of relieving William Tucker Greene of his head.
Tony watched as the other man undid his belt buckle and pulled the belt out from the loops holding it in place. Once the belt was completely free he folded it in half and moved to the small table which stood near the doorway. He placed the belt there and then opened the door, poking his head out into the corridor.
Tony couldn't make out the words he whispered to the person outside. While Greene's back was turned Tony's gaze settled on the belt. He swallowed down hard as the possibilities of what Greene intended to do with it trailed through his mind. He closed his eyes, blocking out the image of the belt, and tried to not think about it. But two top running possibilities kept finding their way through the mental barrier he had constructed.
The first was that Greene planned to beat him with the belt. The second one that persisted was that Tony had seen belts used to strangle people and Greene had seemed to take a little too much pleasure in wrapping that rope around his neck earlier.
For an instant a third possibility flashed through his mind. Perhaps the belt was for show so that Tony would have to sit there and look at it and wonder how and when Greene planned to use it on him. The man did like messing with people's minds.
This last possibility did not linger in his thoughts for any meaningful length of time though. It didn't take long to accept it as wishful thinking and discard it from the list.
As soon as he heard the whispering stop Tony opened his eyes. Greene leaned back in the room and closed the door. When he turned around he saw that Greene now had something new grasped in his hand.
Tony watched as the other man set the item down on the table beside the belt he had placed there a moment before. He recognized it immediately. It was that rather well sharpened and large knife Sutton had held to his throat earlier when they had tied him to the chair that first time.
Tony clenched his teeth, nearly grinding them into one another. He didn't want to play into Greene's mind games. He wanted to look away from the belt and the knife as if they did not affect him in the least but found some powerful intangible force held his gaze on them.
He simply couldn't pull away from whatever made him stare intently at them.
In that instant Tony felt something shift and then break apart inside himself. It felt like a huge deep dark crevasse had opened up – splitting him into pieces. And things like hope and resolve and composure which he only had a tenuous hold on slipped from his grasp and fell away from him into the abyss of that crevasse.
"As I said Agent DiNozzo this is just the beginning. But it's a good start," Greene stated and picked up the belt.
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Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had begun to understand the true meaning of what Greene had meant by appreciating your accommodations. And it had nothing to do with the hard frigid floor he was seated upon or the darkness surrounding him or the tight bindings keeping his hands and ankles tethered together.
No. It had nothing to do with any of these things. He understood that all too clearly and acutely now.
What it had everything to do with was location and acoustics.
Only moments earlier he had been mentally retracing the details of the route St. Clair had guided him along as they had made their way down to the room he now sat in. He had been in the midst of taking all those counted steps and turns and other hints and drawing them into a mental picture of that area of the vessel. The boat had stopped moving a while earlier and the increased quiet of his solitary confinement made it easy to focus deeply on the task at hand. The mental map could benefit his escape plan greatly.
But suddenly his attention had been yanked away to something outside himself. The echo of someone crying out in pain had penetrated his thoughts. He had listened intently for a string of moments as the quiet settled back in. But it was short lived as another pained cry reverberated off the walls of the storage area. Far as he could tell the sound had come from the area of the boat above and was carried down into the room where he sat.
Muffled voices had followed the cries. Despite the words not being clear he recognized one of the voices immediately as Tony's. The other one only took a few additional seconds of focus to identify as William Tucker Greene. Based off the way the sound carried they had to be in the room directly aloft.
That son of a bitch had planned this set up. It had been no happenstance that Greene and his men had moved him to this particular location on the boat. The physical discomfort of it might have been considered a perk by Greene but its true intent was so that Gibbs could hear what went on in the room above. So he would have to sit through Greene torturing Tony.
His hands clenched into tight fists as rage tore through him. If his earlier words to Greene about how he was going to end the man had been a warning before they had just become a solemn promise. And if it came down to using his bare hands to accomplish it then so be it.
If William Tucker Greene thought Gibbs was going to just sit there and listen to whatever the hell the man was doing to Tony he was greatly mistaken. Relaxing his hands from the clenched fists he began to reach towards the back of his waistband to retrieve the flashlight that he had swiped from that kid Sutton. But the sound of the lock on the door turning cut the action short.
A moment later the light overhead came on and Detective St. Clair stepped into the room. He carried the same travel case he had the last time and now also had a plastic grocery bag as well. Gibbs noticed that he was unaccompanied this time. The team lead was grateful for this since Sutton was unpredictable and possibly even unstable.
With how furious he was at that moment Gibbs was not sure he would be able control his temper enough not to set Sutton off. The kid was a little too attached to his firearm. And St. Clair might have been right. Thinking before acting was not a concept Sutton grasped.
A few feet away from him St. Clair set the items he carried down on the floor. He then dug around in the grocery bag until he came up with latex gloves which he tugged on. Reaching back in the same bag he pulled out bandages and tape and a packet of some kind. Once he collected the items he moved over to where Gibbs sat and squatted down in front of him. He laid out the tape and other things on the floor.
"Greene still got you on clean up duty huh? Kind of a low ranking task," Gibbs commented adding a smirk to the words.
St. Clair didn't respond immediately instead he went about pushing aside Gibbs' shirt so his injured shoulder was exposed. The undershirt had already been cut away in that area giving easy access to the wound. The detective began to work at removing the old tape holding the bandage in place over the bullet wound. He finally replied as he did so. His words were quiet but held force behind them.
"I'd be very careful what you say Agent Gibbs. Agent DiNozzo learned the hard way how I react when people start talking like they know me when they don't know shit. Maybe he'll think twice next time. You should do the same."
"Just the truth."
"The truth is I don't do anything I haven't chosen to do. End of story," the detective responded. He had finished removing the old bandage and had ripped open a packet containing an antiseptic pad. He worked at cleaning the wound with it as Gibbs spoke up again.
"Choosing to take orders from a guy like Greene. He's an arrogant SOB who gets off on messing with people's heads. Your so called service doesn't mean anything to him. He's got a dozen out there just like you. Probably more. He tells you you're different, you're valuable, an asset to The Wheel. He's manipulating you into thinking you've earned his respect. But he doesn't respect you. He's using you. You're disposable. I'm sure he finds it very amusing that you follow him so blindly – so unquestioningly."
When St. Clair who was still cleansing his injured shoulder with the antiseptic wipe suddenly applied deliberate and solid pressure with his thumb directly into the wound Gibbs knew he had riled the other man. He had to swallow down hard to manage the pain St. Clair had inflicted.
The detective must of taken note of the hard swallow or some other hint which had slipped through because he seemed satisfied he had gotten his point across and let up on the pressure he was applying to the wound. He wadded up the antiseptic wipe and stuffed it back into the package it had come out of. Then he moved on to taking out a fresh bandage and tearing off strips of the medical tape.
Gibbs could tell that St. Clair was fighting to restrain his anger as he worked silently. He was trying to mask it with indifference but failing to manage it thoroughly.
"It pisses you off so much because you know I'm right. You know it's true," Gibbs told him.
"What the fuck is it with you and DiNozzo? You two think so highly of yourselves that you honestly believe you are going to make me see the light or the error of my ways or some shit like that? I should just leave you down here with that bullet hole open and exposed and show you once and for all you don't know me."
"But you won't because Greene told you to take care of it."
For a long beat St. Clair simply glared at him. The hard look showed precisely how royally ticked off he was but at the same time Gibbs saw something else mixed in – some trace of conflicting emotion kicked up along with the anger.
The detective opened his mouth to speak but before he could begin to get the words out a sound from the room above jerked both of their attentions upward. The thump sound was slightly muffled but unmistakable. Barely a heartbeat later another hard thump came.
St. Clair was the first to drop his gaze back down and he returned to applying a new bandage over the wound on Gibbs' shoulder.
Silence fell between them. Gibbs lowered his gaze away from the ceiling above. Resting his head back against the wall behind him he now looked off past St. Clair's shoulder at no particular point of focus.
The thump sound they had heard had a certain distinctiveness to it Gibbs recognized. Like the impact sound of someone being beaten on.
The detective finished up with the bandage and then began to adjust the shirt to cover Gibbs' shoulder again. Just as he did so another noise emanated from the room above. The slight hitch in St. Clair's tug on the shirt told Gibbs it affected the man more than he was trying to let show.
This time the sound arrived as more of a thwack than a thump. It held a crispness to it. It had been delivered more swiftly and with more force behind it.
A beat later another thwack echoed in the air of the storage area. Then almost right on top of it another. Then again. Each louder than the last.
The sound cut into Gibbs so sharply and deeply that it left him feeling completely raw. He could barely bite back on the rage boiling, almost billowing, up inside him. He couldn't just sit here any longer – doing nothing. As soon as St. Clair left he would start working on the cuffs and then the rest of his restraints. Maybe it was foolhardy to think he had a chance in hell of saving Tony but at least if that turned out to be the case then he would go out fighting instead of sitting on his ass.
Gibbs noticed that the goings on in the room above seemed to rattle the detective a bit. He had picked up his pace in carrying out the task at hand considerably as if speeding along being able to leave sooner than later. St. Clair had retrieved the travel case and opened it. Gibbs saw that the pill bottle from earlier was inside but St. Clair didn't offer him that form this time around. He went straight into rolling up Gibbs' sleeve, tying the rubber tourniquet around his arm and preparing the shot.
St. Clair looked as if he was about to say something but whatever it had been was abandoned when another harsh thwack sound resonated through the air of the room. Instead of speaking he hurriedly administered the shot and gathered up the supplies. Once they were all collected the detective reached in the grocery bag and pulled out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the lid and offered him a drink. Gibbs shook his head. Even as thirsty as he was he wasn't taking anything from these guys. St. Clair accepted his refusal without any insistence or second attempt. He simply picked up the grocery bag and the travel case and headed for the door.
As he did so Gibbs made an attempt to plant one last seed in the detective's thoughts. His voice was a bit hoarse and taunt as he spoke.
"Piece of advice St. Clair. Those choices you say you make all by your lonesome. You might want to think on who it is that controls how many and what they are. Cuz they all lead back to the same person and it ain't you."
The other man had reached the door and opened it but had paused as Gibbs finished speaking. After standing there in the doorway with his back to the NCIS agent for a long moment the detective finally turned around. Looking Gibbs straight in the eye he replied.
"Piece of advice Agent Gibbs. You shouldn't talk down about someone playing head games when you're doing the same thing. It doesn't make you right or any better. It just makes you a hypocrite."
With that the detective left, slamming the door behind him. The light in the room went out and lock clicked into place.
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Looking down at the screen on his cell phone Tim tapped the call symbol beside Fornell's name. The image on the display shifted to indicate it was connecting the call. But once again his attempts were unsuccessful as the other end of the line went straight to the FBI agent's voicemail. It was irritating and frustrating but by no means a surprise.
Clearly Fornell had turned the phone off. When McGee's numerous attempts to call him had repeatedly been directed to voicemail without so much as a single ring he and the team had tried to track the phone. But it appeared the GPS had been disabled. Fornell was likely using a burn phone instead of his regular cell.
Tim didn't know why he had even bothered to try and call again. Sheer desperation perhaps.
Fornell was not going to make this easy. But as annoyed and frustrated as he was Tim wasn't giving up. Fornell had come up here for a reason and, therefore, he was likely still somewhere in Portland. If he wasn't going to answer his phone then they would track him down physically. There had to be something – a flight, a hotel, a rental car which they could trace him by. Then once they nailed something down they could follow the trail to where he was likely to be found.
Tim was hoping for a rental car since Fornell would have to at some point return it or maybe they could find it on a traffic cam. A hotel would work as well since there was a fair chance he would have to return at some point to sleep or get his belongings before checking out.
Slipping the phone in his jacket pocket he turned to Ziva who sat at the table in front of a laptop. They had made a brief stop at the hotel so they could use the computers in an effort to hunt down Fornell.
"Anything?" he asked her.
"I have found no trace of him. Nothing. He has to be using an alias or I would have found something by now."
"Makes sense. He knew Gibbs was here. Knew better than to leave a well marked trail. I'll try hacking into his financials anyway. Maybe there's something – a credit card charge maybe," Tim replied and settled in on the opposite side of the table at his own computer.
"Clearly he is evading us," Ziva commented.
"Don't you mean avoiding?" Moore chimed in from where he sat on the bed sorting through the paperwork from Cutter's Jeep.
"No. I have said what I meant. He evades us," Ziva stated firmly. Tim then voiced his own opinion.
"Personally, I am going with eludes. But he can't hide forever. And when he pokes his head up we'll locate him and find out what he knows about Jack Cutter. And what in the world his fingerprint was doing on an ID in Cutter's vehicle."
"When we do find him he had better not give us the run around. He should just tell us what he knows already and stop being a horse's ass!" Ziva declared. Annoyance saturating her tone as she spoke.
"Nothing on his cards. At least not since a few days ago back in DC," Tim informed them. Ziva blew out a frustrated sigh and then responded.
"We should not have lost him when Gibbs sent us to follow him. Perhaps we would have seen where he was staying or the car he was driving. Something."
Tim looked over at her and replied after a long beat.
"I forget sometimes how slick Fornell can be. But we'll find him. We have to. He could know something that might help us find Gibbs. Moore, you got the info on the marina yet?"
"Yep. Got it. Directions and a recent sat photo we can use to find our way around if we need to."
"Hopefully, we can at least confirm it's St. Clair's truck that Abby spotted. Maybe afterward we can get into St Clair's financials and see if he left any kind of trail that way. When we get back we also need to photograph more of the prints we lifted and send them to Abby. Maybe send her some of the scene shots from Cutter's apartment and vehicle too. And we need to review the record of the GPS pings from the rental. See if they give us any indication of the route Gibbs took – fill in the missing pieces between Portland and where the car ended up at the salvage yard in Windham. And have to check in with the director to see if they found anything at Davis' apartment. There's just not enough time in the day. We're never going to get through all of this. How about you, Moore, anything from the paperwork?"
"I haven't finished going through all of the papers but it looks like he registered it in the name Jonathan Cutters."
"That explains a lot. Adding an S to the end of the last name would hinder any searches on the name. We'll have to see if that name will lead us anywhere new. We'll add it to the list. But the marina takes priority so why don't we head over there," Tim responded.
The senior field agent began to gather up everything they might need as Ziva and Moore did the same. As he went about packing up he couldn't help but feel the stress beginning to weigh down on him again. It had relented a little upon finding Cutter's Jeep but that surge of feeling confident that they were making progress had now waned considerably.
Maybe if they had more agents he wouldn't feel stretched so thin and that he was forced into trying to figure out what took priority amongst an ever growing collection of things that could all potentially be vitally important.
Tim felt like somewhere buried in all the evidence they had collected and the information they had uncovered there might be a master key of some kind they just simply hadn't gotten down to yet in the pile. There just wasn't enough time and enough hands.
And his worst fear was that when they finally did get down to that master key that it would already be too late.
"Coming McGee?" Ziva's voice asked. He looked up from the contents of his backpack and found that she and Moore were already stationed at the doorway.
"On my way!" he replied. Ziva and Ro headed out into the hallway while he zipped up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. As Tim headed across the room and out through the doorway one thing dominated all of his thoughts. He prayed that his choice of the East Side Marina and St. Clair's truck as their top priority had been the right one. Because if it wasn't he hated to think of how high the cost for his error might be.
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After locking the door Danny turned away from the aft storage where Agent Gibbs was being held. He paused a long moment to rub a palm over his face and pinch the bridge of his nose for a few deep breaths. He had thought that he had been exhausted before but now he was feeling it in spades.
He had been practically dead on his feet up on deck guarding Agent DiNozzo but somehow their heated exchange had drained every last reserve he had. Worse yet he had lost his cool and clocked DiNozzo in the head with his firearm. But the man had seriously pissed him off so it wasn't like he hadn't earned it. Then he and Sutton had to haul his unconscious ass back inside.
Pushing a weighted breath from his body Danny headed to the steep narrow set of stairs which lead to the main level of the boat.
He had barely landed a foot on the bottom step when something drew his attention upward. Lifting his gaze he found Greene standing in the doorway at the top of the staircase.
"Hey Billy!" he tossed out as he continued to climb the stairs. The other man stepped aside to clear the doorway when he reached the top.
"Danny, a moment if you would," Greene responded as he started down the corridor. Danny simply replied by following after him. Coming to the end of the short hallway Greene opened a door and stepped inside. He held the door open for Danny and closed it at his back once he had passed through.
After shutting the door Greene turned to him and crossed his arms over his chest. There was a tense beat of silence as Danny stood in the middle of the sizable cabin and Greene remained stationary in front of the doorway.
"Something wrong?" Danny asked in the hope that speaking would dissolve the tension that filled the air. He didn't like this situation for some reason but couldn't pinpoint why. Something had happened. Or was about to happen. Whatever it was he was fairly certain he wasn't going to like it.
"Everything is progressing as planned," Greene answered in a calm tone. But his body language remained taunt.
"Had me worried for a moment there Billy. Ya know with what happened with Agent DiNozzo up on deck before. I thought maybe...well I thought maybe you had an issue with it."
"I trust that you had sufficient cause to deal with Agent DiNozzo as you did. I do not need the details only your word that it was warranted."
"He said stuff he shouldn't have been saying."
"Then that is all I need to know."
"So what did you want to talk to me about?"
"How did the administration of the antibiotics to Agent Gibbs go?" Greene inquired.
"He refused to take the pill so I ended up having to give him the shot."
"This is as I expected. However I wished to test his response for confirmation."
"Well he almost ended up with the pill shoved down his throat that first time because Sutton totally overreacted. Made it harder than it had to be."
"I will speak with Sutton and make sure he is clear on his role. He will not interfere with the administration of the shots again. It is important that Agent Gibbs gets them as scheduled."
"That'd help. And I understand about needing to stick to the schedule for them to be effective."
"You do not yet understand its full importance but you will shortly. Before I share some information with you I needed to ensure you could follow my instructions without question. And you have not failed me. Not that I doubted it. Therefore, I now find myself able to share this with you."
"What's going on?" Danny asked.
"Despite their labels what you administered to Agent Gibbs was not an antibiotic of any kind. And the sedative you gave him prior to that was not as labeled either. Just the opposite in fact. It was a toxin derived from a combination of existing toxins, mainly plant based, and one developed by our organization. Highly effective for its purpose."
"Which is?"
"As we speak the toxin is building up in Agent Gibbs' system and taking hold in his blood and in his muscles and organs. It is beginning to negatively impact him even in these early stages."
"So what I gave him was poison?"
"Affirmative. The first dose when you fixed his gunshot wound had enough of a sedative also in it to subdue him but also contained the toxin. The other doses were one hundred percent toxin."
"What effects will it have?"
"As I mentioned it is a combination of existing toxins and one developed by the organization. At varying amounts the existing ones include things such as water hemlock and English Yew amongst others. They have been modified to alter their rate of effect and to single out certain effects they have. The toxin developed by the organization remains something I cannot disclose at this juncture."
"You said the levels and rates had been altered. What kind of timeline we talking here? Anything I need to prepare for?"
"Agent Gibbs will soon begin suffering from nausea, muscle tremors and respiratory issues. It will eventually progress into convulsions and heart failure. But with the altered rate those effects are a ways off."
"What do you want me to do or not do?"
"I will give you further instructions when that time nears. For now simply continue with changing the wound dressing and shots as scheduled."
To this Danny simply nodded in agreement. He didn't trust that if he spoke things he shouldn't say wouldn't come out. His mind reeled with the impact of what Greene had just told him. But he couldn't give in to processing it all right then though. So instead he focused on keeping his body language relaxed and casual so as not to clue Greene into the conflict which had been sparked up inside him.
"Anything else?" he asked managing to make it sound calm and collected for the most part. There was only a slight hint of tension in his tone which slipped through.
"As you may have noticed we have stopped moving. We have been making our way out around a large group of islands off the coast. Myself and Marcus who I believe you have been acquainted with will be departing shortly to attend a meeting on one of these islands. I am not exact on how long we will be but certainly to return before the night is out. Once we are back we will make the journey southward. If you are in need of returning to Portland we can let you off on the Massachusetts coast and have transportation awaiting you. You have been an asset however and I encourage you to come with us so that we may progress your advancement in the organization. Return travel would be arranged for you."
"I'd need to see about leave from my superiors," Danny responded. Keeping his answers short seemed to be the best plan.
"Of course. Feel free to use the satellite phone again if needed. Let me know once your plans are decided."
"Will do."
"Very well. For now feel free to get some rest. I will let you know before Marcus and I depart. A boat will be arriving for us so do not be alarmed if you hear it approach."
"Alright."
"Make sure to attend to Agent Gibbs' shots and dressing changes. As for Agent DiNozzo leave him be. He will give you no trouble I assure you."
"Got it."
Greene nodded in acknowledgment and departed. Danny remained standing in the middle of the room - frozen in shock. Disbelief washed over him at what he had just learned. The sedative and antibiotics had not been as they appeared. Instead they were poison. And he had been instructed to continue giving it to Agent Gibbs.
Suddenly the room seemed devoid of oxygen. His heart rate kicked up a few notches and he realized he couldn't stay in the confined space an instant longer.
The initial shock had waned enough that he was finally able to move again. Only a breath later he was out through the door and headed off towards the deck. Hopefully the ocean air would settle him as it had done for him so many times in the past.
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His footsteps echoing in the stairwell Tobias Fornell made the final turn to the flight of steps which would take him to the third floor. He wasn't holding out a whole lot of hope that this little venture over to the Harborside Hotel would meet its objective. Mostly because the Nissan that Team Gibbs had rented out of Portsmouth was nowhere to be seen out in front – or back for that matter.
He had hoped to pay Jethro a little visit and see if he could garner what exactly he had on Jack Cutter. And that was more easily gauged by seeing not just Gibbs but the rest of the team in person. Gibbs was not an easy book to read but David, McGee and Moore might inadvertently clue him into where they really stood on their investigation even if the team lead was trying to hide it.
He took the last few steps and made his way through the door marked with the number three. Looking up and down the hallway he found it empty. Room 334 was easily enough located a couple of doorways down. Arriving in front of it Tobias took in an elongated breath and forcefully pushed it out of his body, steeling himself for what might be about to befall him.
"Here goes nothing," he whispered and gave a quick rap of the fist on the door. He waited for a few seconds but no response came back. So he knocked again adding a bit more force behind it. And once again there was no verbal response and he couldn't discern any movement inside the room. The NCIS team had booked a block of three room so he tried Room 332 next. Receiving the same lack of response there he moved on to Room 330.
"And door number three. Placing no bets on it being my lucky number," Tobias commented and rapped his fist against this door. And as predicted it was not lucky number three as he got the same result here as at the previous two rooms.
Glancing down at the key card access on the door Fornell was tempted to head off and find some underpaid hotel employee with a key card who he could persuade to let him in. Maybe a housekeeper he could give a well crafted sob story to so they would take pity on him. Or maybe go straight for the influence the quick flash of a badge could often have.
Either way once inside he would be able to poke around for any clue about just what Team Gibbs knew exactly.
After a long moment of thought he opted to keep that plan in reserve.
Heading back towards the stairwell he pulled his burn phone out of his coat pocket. Even though the two were estranged Tobias still knew Gibbs' number by memory. He punched it in and put the phone to his ear. Catching the NCIS agent off guard for a change might be kind of satisfying. Since it was a burner phone the caller id would be unavailable and Gibbs wouldn't even know it was him. Then again would he even pick up on an unknown caller?
His anticipation at catching Jethro off guard was quickly dissolved as the call to the other man's phone went straight to voicemail without so much as one ring.
Tobias disconnected the call and tucked the phone away back in his coat. He had noticed a cafe across the street which had a good view of the hotel. He would grab a bite to eat and a seat there and wait to see if Team Gibbs came back. He would also make a few more attempts by phone to reach the NCIS team lead.
Failing all that he would find a way to gain access to the hotel rooms. For his own peace of mind he had to know whether the NCIS agents were still on DiNozzo's trail or if he was truly clear of their discovering him.
Arriving back in the stairwell he headed downward. Even though he had gained nothing of use he hadn't lost anything either. He would find out one way or another. Sometimes patience was the name of the game. And something was telling him their cards would be revealed sooner than later.
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Ziva tugged the zipper on her coat up a little further to ensure that her badge and weapon were thoroughly concealed from sight. While subtly observing her surroundings she continued to walk down the small hill which led into the East Side Marina.
She could sense the gazes of McGee and Moore on her as she made her way casually down along the road. As part of their plan the two had remained in the rental car parked further back up the hill. But she was by no means alone - if she spoke they would be able hear her through the earwig she wore.
The heavy rain had dwindled to nothing more than a few sprinkles now and again but she flipped her hood up over her head anyway. It would help conceal her speaking if she needed to communicate with her teammates.
After what had happened at the salvage yard they had decided to give a more low key type approach a try. First order of business was to check on the truck Abby had believed to be St. Clair's. On the video footage the forensics expert had found that the license plate had been only partially visible. The rest had been blocked from view by a fence in the way. But what she could make out had matched the plate and color as well as the make and model of the detective's vehicle.
Ziva would locate the truck and confirm whether or not the remainder of the plate also matched. Then if it did and if possible she would take a quick glance through the windows to see if anything useful lay in plain sight.
After that if there was anyone about who appeared to be regulars at the marina or locals of the area she might try to ferret some information out of them about St. Clair or his whereabouts. They had figured people might be more forthcoming and likely to talk if badges and formality weren't involved.
Given that the video from the cameras around the marina had been wiped out except for the most recent few hours there was a fair chance that the harbormaster was in the know if not also on the take from The Wheel. So doing a little sniffing around without tipping him off would likely garner more information than flashing badges and asking lots of questions. But really no one could be ruled out as potentially involved with The Wheel. So she would have to be careful with her words.
Having reached the parking area Ziva headed for the far northwest corner where Abby had directed them to look. The lot was neighbored by a warehouse and Ziva could see the fence the other woman had spoken of.
Now in the lot the visual scanning of her surroundings was far less subtle as she sought out the vehicle amongst rows of trucks and various pieces of equipment. She had already thought up a story to give should anyone ask why she was poking around.
Coming around the back end of a delivery truck she finally spotted a green Chevy pickup truck. She crossed the distance between the two vehicles at a quickened pace. Ziva could see why the plate had been obscured. The truck was parked at the very edge of the lot in what was not a marked space. In fact it was half on the paved lot and half on the grassy area at an odd angle near the fence. It was tucked into a notched out area where the fence darted in and out around a cluster of trees on the opposite side.
Almost immediately her gaze landed on the brand logo displayed on the drivers side door. As Abby had seen in the video it was a Silverado. All that was left was to check the license plate so Ziva made her way around the back end of the truck and looked down at the plate – 8256P it read.
"Plate matches. This is St. Clair's vehicle," she said aloud. Tim's reply came back quickly.
"Nice. We found St. Clair's truck. See anything else of use?"
"I am looking now," she answered. Ziva peered into the bed of the truck. At the cab end there was a large aluminum gear box. After taking a quick glance around she stepped up on the truck's running board and leaned over into the bed. She then tested the lid on the box but, unfortunately, it was locked. But at least her new height provided a better vantage point.
There were a few items strewn about the bed of the truck – a tarp, a roll of duct tape, several flashlights, and other similar items. Nothing appeared to be of use at first glance. Still she made sure to look carefully at each item for any slight clue.
As her gaze moved along she spotted something on the floor of the truck bed itself. There were small reddish brown spots here and there. Ziva had seen enough dried blood to recognize the spots as such. Collectively it wasn't a lot. Perhaps enough for a bloody nose, sliced hand or head laceration.
Taking a second visual pass over the spots she noticed that one of the larger ones had what looked to possibly be a few strands of hair stuck to it. The only reason it had caught her attention was because its lighter color stood out against the dark green of the truck. If it was a hair and not some kind of fiber it had come from someone who was very blonde. That meant it did not belong to St. Clair because based off the picture Ziva had seen the detective had short sandy blonde hair. Jack Cutter on the other hand as described by the pub owner had golden blonde hair.
"I have found a few traces of blood in the truck bed. They are dried. Not a huge amount of blood put all together. There is what appears to be a few rather bright blonde hairs. Shall I retrieve them."
"No can do Ziva. Trust me I want to say yes. But we better not. And remember there's likely a camera on you. Could it be St. Clair's hair?"
"No it far too blonde for that. It is more like what that pub owner you talked to described as Jack Cutter's hair."
"I suppose it's possible that St. Clair caught up to Cutter, injured him, and transported him in the truck."
"This was what I was thinking as well."
"We already have a hair sample of Cutter's that we found in the Jeep. Unlike the fingerprint I'm positive that doesn't belong to Fornell."
"Yes I can see how you could come safely to that conclusion."
"Anything inside the truck?"
"I have not looked yet. Give me a moment."
To this Tim went silent in her ear. Ziva moved along the running board so she could peer into the front seats of the vehicle. Once in position she looked through the window, surveying the seats, floor, dashboard and any other area that was visible. She found nothing of interest. The truck had an extended cab so with a step sideways she was able to visually inspect the back seats. Almost immediately she spotted a cloth – perhaps a shirt or large rag – balled up and discarded on the floor in front of the seats. Like in the bed of the truck she could see that it had dried blood on it.
"There is more blood on a cloth in the vehicle," she informed McGee.
"How bad?"
"More than the other spots I found in back. Looks like maybe something used to put pressure on a wound that was bleeding steadily."
"Anything else?" he asked over the earwig.
"I am looking now," she replied as her gaze continued to search the back portion of the cab. For a moment she began to believe there was nothing else to be found. But on a second pass over the further side of the seats she noticed something tucked in beside the seatbelt buckle where it came up from the seat. Shielding her eyes with her hand she was able to get a better look at the item. There nestled in beside the buckle was a plastic card of some kind. But the back side of it was facing her.
So moving quickly she hopped down from the running board and moved around to the opposite side of the truck. Stepping up on that side's running board she peered back in the cab. She could now clearly see the face of the card.
"Breadcrumbs," she whispered.
"I'm sorry Ziva. What was that?" McGee piped up in question.
"I have found something McGee. A key card."
"Can you tell what it's for?" he inquired.
"Oh it is familiar alright."
"Why's that?"
"Because you and I have one just like it. It's an access card for the Harborside Hotel. I think Gibbs was in this truck, McGee, and he is leaving us clues."
"Oh God if that's so then The Wheel has Gibbs," McGee stated. Worry lined his voice as he had spoken. He sounded as if he had perhaps suspected it all along but had not been able to accept it until now. Ziva had suspected the same thing right along as well but speaking the words to verbalize the theory had not been something she had been able do this whole time. It made it too real. Distracting herself from that line of thinking Ziva spoke up.
"There is nothing else useful in the truck."
"Now if we can just find St. Clair. We can find Gibbs," Tim replied.
"On my way to see about that now."
"Remember don't attract too much attention. We don't want to tip him off or anyone else we don't want the notice of."
"Not my first roundup McGee."
"I think you mean rodeo. Not your first rodeo."
"Why would I say this? I have never been to a rodeo."
"Me either actually. Anyway, good luck."
"If there is anyone here who knows anything I will get it out of them. Skill not luck."
"Skill. Luck. Whatever. Just please Ziva I beg you don't kick anyone's ass."
"I will do my best but I make no promises."
McGee seemed to accept the answer since he didn't respond. Ziva hopped down from the truck's running board and headed back across the parking lot. All the while her gaze seeking out potential targets for questioning. If anyone here had seen St. Clair she was not going to stop until she found them.
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With the fingers of his right hand Danny St. Clair rubbed at the tight spot on the back of his neck. His other hand was braced down hard against the railing in front of him as he looked out over the dark water. His mind raced with the swirl of emotions churned up inside him.
It took every ounce of restraint he had to not show outwardly the chaos he felt himself hurtling through. He tried to breath but the tension in his body made it near impossible to gain a full inhale and exhale. Rage coursed through every inch of his body. He desperately wanted to punch something – repeatedly and mercilessly – while screaming a shitload of choice expletives into the air but couldn't allow himself to do it. Letting anyone else possibly see his outburst was not an option.
Billy had lied to him and worse yet had used him. Danny had thought in all of this at least he had done some good by being able sedate Agent Gibbs while he worked on the bullet wound and then by administering antibiotics to him to help avoid infection.
But Greene had played him – made a fool out of him. Billy had made him freaking poison somebody. He had fucking poisoned a federal agent!
What the hell had Greene made him do?
He knew he was indebted to Billy and the organization but this was effing messed up. When he first found out he had wanted to rip Billy a new one. But had immediately realized he needed to keep his cool and his mouth shut – at least until he had a moment to think on it.
Danny wasn't an idiot. He knew full well that Greene was not a man you wanted to be on the wrong side of. Hell look at what he had done to Agent DiNozzo.
What the fuck was he gonna do?
Then there was the whole plan where Greene and the organization were going to kill both Gibbs and DiNozzo and he was a part of it. Danny was about to have the blood of two federal agents on his hands. One a Marine and the other a former detective like himself. Could he really go through with this? What other choice did he have?
On the other hand Billy had been good to him until this point. At least he believed he had been.
Also Greene had confided in him about Agent DiNozzo and what went down with him four years ago. And the way The Wheel kept information locked down it was no small thing that Greene shared it. And he had filled him in on the plans for Gibbs and DiNozzo – bringing him into the loop. As far as he could tell even Sutton who Billy had brought with him from Boston was still in the dark on that front. Greene had trusted him enough to bring him into the know.
He had told Danny about the poison.
But it had been after the fact. Billy had manipulated, tricked, him into it. He hated this. He hated being played.
But he owed Billy and The Wheel. And Danny was not one to welch on his debts. Or one to cut and run when the going got rough. And an order was an order. He had accepted the instruction and the bottle of antibiotics without question. And the sedative – hell he had asked Greene for that himself. At first Billy had not been keen to the idea but Danny had talked him into it. Or so he had thought.
Maybe Greene had really come around because he had realized the opportunity it opened up to poison Agent Gibbs. Maybe that led into continuing it into the antibiotics.
Dammit he should have just left it alone and not pushed for the sedative.
But what was done was done, right? And how could he refuse now. He was already knee deep in this and he owed them. His brother would not be in his own home doing as well as he was if it weren't for The Wheel's help. It could have gone so differently for Drew. He'd probably be lying in some long term care facility drugged into oblivion if Danny hadn't met Billy.
Also if he did resist what would the backlash be? He wasn't naive. He knew refusal or turning his back would be unacceptable. They wouldn't leave it at that. They wouldn't let it go. Billy and the organization knew about his life – about his career, his partner, his brother.
He was so furious – so incredibly pissed off. But at the same time he had made the choices which had put him in this bind and he was indebted to these people. Not to mention the consequences if he didn't go along.
Then another realization punched its way into his thoughts.
Billy had known exactly what he had been doing when he had Danny unknowingly administer the tainted sedative and antibiotics to Agent Gibbs. Greene had tricked him into poisoning the man then told him after the fact so Greene had him right where he wanted him – in an impossible corner. If Billy didn't already have leverage he had it now.
It had also likely been a test. The first part to test him taking orders – unquestioningly. Then the second part came when Greene had told him of the poison – the test being to see how far Danny was willing to go and to check his loyalty.
Danny leaned down with both elbows rested on the boat's railing and ducked his head in towards his chest. Once his face was shielded from any eyes that might be watching he spoke under his breath.
What a fucking mess you have got yourself into Daniel Christopher St. Clair! And just what the hell are you going do about it?
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Ziva counted in her head. Six. Yes the old man she was now seated next on the bench was the sixth person she had spoken with to seek out any shred of information on Detective St. Clair. The five before him had provided nothing of value.
The old man who had told her he came to the marina every day, sat on the bench, and fed the gulls was very friendly. And he had been willing to chat unlike a couple of the other people she had encountered. She had explained that she had been in town and had not seen St. Clair for some time. That they were old acquaintances and it had been far too long to not stay in touch. She went on to tell him how someone had mentioned seeing his truck down at the marina. So she figured it had been worth a try since every other place she had tried to meet up with him had not panned out.
The old fellow had admitted he knew the detective – at least met him and made small talk with him a few times when he and his partner had come by the marina on a several cases they had been working. The old guy had confided to Ziva that he believed there might be some nefarious activities going on at the marina on a fairly regular basis. She teased him saying he seemed to know quite a bit about it and perhaps he was up to some mischief himself. This had drawn a laugh from him and after that he seemed perfectly comfortable with her.
When Ziva had remained silent for a long moment the old man spoke up.
"Penny for your thoughts."
"I admit I am a bit disappointed. I was hoping to catch him. It is unfortunate that I cannot find him. I wished to surprise him with my visit," she replied in a sad tone.
"Sounds like it was your last chance to see him."
"Well I am from out of town and only here for a few days."
"Maybe next time."
"I do not know when I may be able to return. Likely not for some time," Ziva explained.
"I bet he'll be disappointed he missed you."
"I am certain he would have strong feelings about it, yes," she replied.
"Well lets see. Let me sit on it a moment here. I might have a good idea or two left in this old brain yet."
"I bet you do," Ziva commented and gave him a warm smile.
They had been sitting quietly for a few moments. The old man feeding a lone gull that had come looking for a snack. And Ziva looking about in search of the next person she might talk to. When she glanced to the left she saw a tall skinny man in his mid to late forties approaching. He wore a jumpsuit type uniform and carried a thermos and what looked to be a lunch bag. When Ziva's gaze stayed on him for a moment it drew the old man to look in that direction as well.
"Well hi there Sam!" he called out as the tall skinny man arrived at the bench they were seated on.
"How you doin' today Merle? And I see you have company."
"I'm doing alright. Best that can be expected for an old timer. And this lovely young lady has been kind of enough to spare a few minutes to sit with me."
"Nice to meet you Miss. I'm Sam," the other man responded.
"I'm Sarah. It is nice to meet you as well. Do you work here at the marina?" Ziva asked glancing down at the thermos and paper bag in Sam's hand.
"I work the night shift at the warehouse next door."
"But every day before his shift he comes around and visits this old man," Merle stated in a grateful tone.
"Well somebody needs to keep you out of trouble," Sam replied with a grin.
"Speakin' of trouble. Sarah here is having a devil of a time catching up with an old acquaintance. I haven't seen him lately but maybe you have."
"Who is it you are looking to catch up to?" Sam inquired looking to Ziva.
"His truck is parked up in the lot but I do not see him anywhere. His name is Daniel. Daniel St. Clair."
"You mean Danny? Detective Danny St. Clair?"
"Yes. That is him. So you know him then?"
"Talk to him now and again. Over where I work at the warehouse we carry parts for everything you can think of – boats, construction equipment, factory machinery. Heck you name it we probably have a part for it. We ship stuff all over the world too. Anyway, he comes in to the office sometimes looking for parts for his snowmobile or his ATV depending on the season. We always get to talking. Turns out we both like snowmobiling and hiking."
"Have you seen him lately?" Merle asked.
"Well he hasn't come into the warehouse recently. But ya know what I seen him the other night kind of think of it."
"Whereabouts was that?" Ziva asked trying not to sound too eager or pushy.
"Here at the marina. I was on my meal break and was taking a walk round. Get some fresh air. I had just come down from the warehouse to the marina and seen him coming up one of the docks. His truck was parked right down by the water. He hopped in it and drove it up to the parking lot. Then he came back down on foot towards the docks. He seemed in a real rush so I didn't call out to him to say hi."
"You said he was coming up the dock when you arrived?" Ziva questioned.
"Yeah there a motorboat, ya know the kind you use to get out to a larger boat, moored about the area I saw him coming from. Yeah and he did get in that boat when he went back down the dock after parking his truck now that I think on it."
"Do you remember anything about the boat or anything else?"
"Sure do cuz it had a name on it. The Blue Northern II."
"Must have been the transport boat for The Blue Northern. Now there's a beauty of a boat!" Merle declared.
"Sure is. Way out of our price league hey Merle?"
"Just looking at the price tag might give this old man a stroke," Merle chuckled. Sam came right back in reply.
"Yeah don't know what Marcus does for a living but it sure ain't working night shift in a parts warehouse."
"Marcus?"
"Can't remember his last name. He came into work one time a while ago looking for a part. He paid extra to have us deliver it to him on his boat - the Northern."
"Anything else you remember?" Ziva asked.
"Sorry. That's about it."
"Do not be sorry. You have both been most helpful. And it has been very nice meeting you gentlemen. I think I will try to contact this boat, The Blue Northern, and see if perhaps Daniel is aboard."
"No problem. I hope you can catch up to Danny before you have to head back out of town," Merle replied. She began to head off but paused long enough to call back over her shoulder to the two men.
"And remember it is supposed to be a surprise. So not a word to him okay."
"Mum's the word!" the old man called back. She gave him a smile and then headed in the direction of the road she had come along when she entered the marina. Once she had put a fair distance between herself and the two men she spoke up.
"Did you hear that McGee?"
"Yep got it. The Blue Northern. Moore is on the phone now with Abby to see what we can find on it. I think we might finally be catching up."
"It's only a matter of time McGee."
"I hope you're right, Ziva. I really do," Tim's voice stated over the earwig. Ziva did not reply. She did not need to. His words had said everything that had been left to say.
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Working on the cuffs with the wire spring from the battery compartment of the flashlight which he had lifted off of Sutton was proving a little more time consuming than anticipated. When St. Clair had zipcuffed his hands in addition to the handcuffs the detective had restricted his movements more than they would normally have been with only metal cuffs restraining them.
Gibbs leaned his upper body forward and tilted his head in towards his chest to gain a new angle and more space behind his body. He hoped it would result in being able to maneuver his arms and hands into a more effective position.
With this change he tried again to insert the wire which he had straightened out into the keyhole on the top of the handcuffs. But froze in place when his brain clicked in that something in his surroundings had just abruptly changed.
Gibbs lifted his head and scanned the darkness as best he could. On the second pass over the room he caught it. The very thin glowing line of light which had been consistently present underneath the doorway was missing. Either it had gone out or something was completely blocking it.
He listened intently for a long string of seconds and found that it was even quieter than it had been. It seemed kind of like the way when the power goes out how the faint hum that normally resides in the background becomes glaringly absent. He concluded that it was likely that the lights and perhaps some other electrically powered equipment had gone out.
He realized that if that was in fact the case then it might be the best opportunity to attempt escape they were likely to get. The plan had originally been for them to see about turning St. Clair into an ally. But Gibbs had pretty much abandoned that slow to enact plan when Greene had started putting the hurt on Tony and he had been forced to listen to it. That had been when he set out to work on getting out of the restraints.
But it was taking significantly longer due to the zip ties. The room above him had gone silent some time earlier. He had tried to stay focused on the task at hand and not think about what the lack of voices and other sounds from above might mean for Tony. But if he were honest even though it drove his determination to get free all the more it had also proved distracting a time or two - rushing his attempt to pick the lock on the cuffs. He had even lost his hold on the wire and had to retrieve it from the floor on one attempt.
If he did get free what state would he find DiNozzo in? The question had crept its way in despite his efforts to push back on it and get on with business.
Now with this possible window of opportunity he had to block all that out and focus only on two things – the wire in his grasp and the metal cuffs around his wrists. With his arms nearly shaking from the strain of their twisted awkward position and this hands and fingers cramped up from manipulating the wire and the cuffs he made yet another attempt at unlocking the restraints.
And this time he was rewarded with their release. He had to work a few more seconds at getting them entirely off his wrists. But once he did he went straight to work on the next task at hand – the zip cuffs. For that he would need his knife. So grasping onto the section of leather at the back of his waistband he began to slide the belt around his waist. When he met resistance at several belt loops he simply used brute force to get the buckle past them, ripping off most of the loops in the process.
Finally the buckle was in reach of this fingertips and he retrieved his knife. Being careful not to slice up his hands he worked to cut through the zip ties.
His hands now freed he turned to the restraints on his legs. And with the assistance of the knife those were tossed aside in a matter of seconds. Hurriedly he felt behind him on the floor in the area were he had dropped the wire he had used to pick the cuffs. It would come in handy if DiNozzo was still handcuffed as he had been the last time Gibbs had seen him. Locating it with his fingertips over near the wall he picked it up and stuffed it in his pants pocket.
Getting up from the floor proved a tougher task than anticipated. His hands arms and shoulders all ached badly. And his legs must have fallen asleep because there were heavy and awkward to move. Bracing a hand against the wall for support he managed to stand.
For a long moment he let his body adjust to the new position after being stationary for so long. Soon his legs, despite a pins and needles sensation, were easier to move and his upper body seemed relieved at being in a new position. His head ached a bit but that was not altogether surprising since he had not had food or water for some time. He would just have to push through it to accomplish the task at hand - survival and escape.
His eyes had acclimated to the darkness quite a bit but he still held out a hand in front of him as he made his way towards the opposite side of the room. And towards his next enormous hurdle. He would have to figure out a way to unlock the door. He recalled seeing a handle on the inside of the door when St. Clair had come in and turned the light in the room on. So first plan would be to see if he could pick the lock. Failing that he would have to resort to more forceful or creative methods.
His outstretched hand connected with the cold surface of the wall on the other side of the room. Estimating that he was to the left of the doorway he moved in that direction until his fingers ran over the top of a hinge on the door. He made fast work of locating the handle on the opposite side.
But before he could even begin to start in on the lock he heard movement on the other side of the door. Gibbs pushed his body up flat against the wall beside the doorway. He had noted earlier that the door opened inward and he was on the wall by the handle so he was in perfect position for catching someone off guard if they came through the door.
He took in a deep breath and released it just as the lock on the door clicked into the unlocked position. The door opened and someone stepped through. As soon as they had crossed the threshold and were slightly ahead of where Gibbs stood he grabbed them from behind. He made swift work of getting them into a hold that could potentially restrict their airway if need be. Scarcely a heartbeat later he had his knife to the person's throat. The blade rested right on the skin of their neck. This garnered the reaction he was looking for as the person stilled inside his grasp. But their voice piped up in the darkness.
"Agent Gibbs! It's Detective St. Clair. I'm here to help you!"
"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Gibbs quietly threw back at him. St. Clair did not hesitate in answering.
"Listen to me. If you and Agent DiNozzo want to escape it's now or never. Greene and the boat's owner have gone to a meeting off the ship. Picked up by someone in a speed boat. Sutton – well - Sutton I may have challenged his ability to hold his liquor. He failed miserably. He's passed out cold. I cut the lights and other accessory power to the boat so there are no cameras and microphones. But we have limited time to work with. I don't know how long exactly the meet will last. Now what's it gonna be. This is a one time offer. Help yourself and Agent DiNozzo. I'm taking a huge enough risk as it is. Now what's it going to be? Either you let me help you or you kill me. I'm prepared for both."
"Just so we're clear. I don't trust you St. Clair. I should finish you right here."
"You're right. You could. Then you could try to escape. Maybe you'll even make it off the boat. But then what? How you going to make it back to shore?" St. Clair responded. Gibbs could tell by his voice, its tone and pitch and fluidity, it wasn't a spur of the moment answer. The man had thought on all of this prior to their encounter.
"You have a plan for that?"
"Yes. But I'm not telling you everything up front," the detective replied.
"You gotta give me something."
"Fine. There's a row boat port side that can be lowered into the water. And there's a compass in my left pocket that's for you. But you won't make it back in the row boat without additional assistance. I've made arrangements for that but I'm not telling you unless you let me go."
Gibbs patted down the left side of St. Clair's coat until he came across the pocket. Reaching in he found that there was a compass shaped object there. He pulled it out and stuffed it in his own pants pocket. He also relieved the other man of the handgun holstered on his hip.
The vibes he was getting off St. Clair were that he was on the up and up at least on this. And he was right about the row boat. They would be completely vulnerable and easily hunted down and caught again without something additional. And taking over the boat they were on wouldn't work either.
"One move I don't like and I will kill you. And I don't hesitate," Gibbs informed the other man calmly.
"I get it. Former Marine."
"Nothing former about it."
"So how's it gonna be?"
"You take me straight to DiNozzo then to the row boat."
"Okay," St. Clair responded in agreement. At this Gibbs finally released him but kept the gun at ready.
"You got night vision goggles, right? That how you got down here with no lights?" Gibbs questioned.
"Yeah. And you're damn lucky I was looking straight ahead and not to the side when I came in cuz I would have shot you and I'm a damn good shot."
"Well, you'll be handing the goggles over to me."
"I keep the night vision. I know the boat. You don't. We don't have the fucking time for you to not know where you're going. There's no time for wrong turns and backtracking. I can take you straight to Agent DiNozzo then up on deck. The only way you are getting them off me is if I'm dead."
"One wrong move and you will be. You got that St. Clair?" Gibbs snapped at him in warning.
"I got it. How did you get out of the cuffs? And where'd you get the knife?"
"Lifted a flashlight off that punk kid Sutton. Took it right out of his back pocket and he didn't so much as flinch. Used the spring in battery compartment to pick the cuffs," Gibbs responded.
"Like I said Sutton's all action no forethought. And the knife?"
"Had it on me the whole time St. Clair."
"No. I patted you down."
"Wouldn't have found it with a simple pat down. Not everything is at it appears."
"Shoe?" St. Clair guessed.
"Belt."
"I'll have to remember that one."
"You said you came down here to help. So are you helping or yapping?"
"I told you I would help. At great personal risk I remind you."
"Then what the hell are you waiting for? Take me to DiNozzo. Now!"
The detective did not respond verbally just started moving back towards the doorway. Gibbs pressed the barrel of the handgun he had taken off the man into his back. He would use the physical connection to guide him in following St. Clair. He really wished he had the night vision goggles but could tell that St. Clair was toeing a fragile line in helping them. Gibbs knew he had to give that offer of good faith in order for the detective to give up the parts of the escape plan he held in reserve.
So he followed St. Clair through the darkness all the while clinging desperately to the hope they weren't already too late to save Tony.
To Be Continued...
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Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Author's Note: Had several reviewers ask so I will clear this question up right here and now once and for all. This is in no way, shape or form headed towards Tiva. I like Tony. I like Ziva. But do not ship them at all - never have and never will. It is one thing I can promise you will never ever see in a fic of mine. You might say I'm a Tiva-free zone.