Chasing Jack
Chapter Fourteen
Without even slowing her typing on the keyboard Abby Sciuto stole a glance down into the recycle bin beside the desk. It was filled with Caf-Pow carnage. The itch for a fresh one was intense but based off the pile of empties in the bin she was already way past her Ducky imposed cut off. He had given her quite the scolding and was holding firm on the need for her to reduce her intake.
But it was late and she had been going straight out all day – multitasking the entire time. Just one more could really give her the extra fuel to press on. Surely Ducky would understand seeing that its energizing effect would be given to working on The Wheel case.
Shifting her gaze she peered longingly over at the perfectly chilled Caf-Pow greatness which stood on a shelf in her cooler. Unable to resist its seduction she stopped typing and made a beeline for the cooler. Pausing short of actually reaching inside to retrieve the drink Abby gave a quick glance towards the open doorway to the lab.
Finding the hallway free of witnesses she turned back to the cooler and scooped up the Caf-Pow.
Immediately she placed the straw to her lips and took in a long sip. The cool liquid hitting her tongue made her close her eyes so she could savor its awesomeness. The first sip was always the best one.
"Apparently working late is contagious this evening," a voice suddenly piped up. Taken by surprise mid-swallow Abby coughed against the Caf-Pow as it traveled awkwardly down her throat.
"Are you alright Ms. Sciuto?" the voice which she now recognized inquired. Clearing her throat and opening her eyes she pivoted to face right.
"Director!"
"That is my title don't wear it out," he commented in jest from his position standing in the doorway of the lab.
"Just surprised to see you here – in my lab – at this hour. Not that you're not welcome. And I'm certainly not complaining. I was just…uh…"
"Drinking a Caf-Pow that I get the impression Doctor Mallard would not approve of," he stated adding his own thought to complete the sentence for her. Abby gave a quick guilty kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar kind of glance down at the Caf-Pow cup in her hand.
"I'm willing to discuss a deal for my silence," Vance offered with a slight smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
"You won't tell Ducky?" she asked eagerly looking up from the cup.
"The good doctor will not hear a peep from me under two conditions. One – you give me an update on what you have been working on that has you here at this hour."
"Oh I can do that one no problem!"
"Excellent. We're halfway to a deal then."
"Okay I'm ready. Lay it on me. What's number two?"
"Well, now, number two, I believe, may be a bit more of a challenge for you then number one."
"I'm sure I can do it – whatever it is. So not afraid of a challenge."
"Alright then. After you give me the update you are done working for tonight and you will go home."
"But…," she began to reply. Vance immediately cut her off.
"No buts. Those are the conditions. Take them or leave them."
"You drive a hard bargain Director Vance."
"So we have a deal or not?"
"Deal. Signed. Sealed. And delivered. Although I guess I haven't quite delivered yet but I will. I promise. Lots of update to give. Some of it is interesting. Some of it not so much. But I guess that doesn't mean it's not important. And you're probably interested in more of a highlighted version than a super detailed report. Not that I am making an assumption. Because I'm not. I'd never ever assume on your behalf. I just want to give you the kind of update that you want."
"But you are going to give me an update, right, Ms. Sciuto?"
"A deal is a deal, Director."
"Okay. Will that be any time in the foreseeable future?" he inquired.
"Like right now. Ya know - this minute."
"Then let's skip over the preamble about what kind of update it will be and jump right in shall we?"
"Right. Got it," she responded.
Pivoting around away from the cooler she hurried back over to the computer she had been typing away on a moment earlier. The director followed after her to the table. After stealing another sip from her Caf-Pow Abby set the cup down beside the keyboard. She had just begun to open her mouth to delve into her verbal report to Vance when the phone on the desk rang. Glancing at its display she reached for the headset.
"It's McGee," she informed Vance.
"Put it on speaker."
To this Abby put down the headset and hit the button to answer the call. Then tapped the second necessary button.
"Hey McGee!" she greeted softly as soon as she had speakerphone set up.
"Hey Abby! You okay?" he asked in reply.
"A-okay. Why do you ask?"
"Your greeting was kind of low key. Didn't have its usual Abby energy."
"Low Caf-Pow levels. But I am remedying that as we speak," she replied.
"Ah! That makes sense. About now I wish I had one of my own. I'm running on fumes and still have to manage to stay awake through a phone call to Director Vance."
"I'll be sure to remember that you find conversations with me so difficult to stay conscious through Agent McGee," Vance piped in.
"Director Vance! Didn't know you were there. Seeing as Abby didn't mention it. Did you, Abby?" McGee responded. The tone of his voice was filled with a strange mixture of surprise and agitation.
"Low Caf-Pow levels McGee. Remember?
"Right. Blame it on the innocent Caf-Pow."
"Sounds like you are on speakerphone as well Agent McGee. The rest of the team on with us?" Vance interjected.
"I'm in the car. Ziva and Moore went in search of food for us. Apparently, take out food is hard to come by at this hour around here. Thought I would check in and see if Abby had anything more on The Blue Northern."
"Of course I do McGee!" the forensics expert replied with a bit of renewed energy.
"Any ID on the owner?"
"That and so much more."
"So who is it? Who owns The Blue Northern?" Tim urged.
"The winner – or I guess owner in this case – is – Marcus Jameson!"
"Okay who is that? He's not on our radar at all," McGee questioned. After taking a deep cleansing breath Abby dove into providing the answer to his inquiry.
"Mr. Jameson is the proud papa of The Blue Northern. Not his only boat but clearly one of his favorites since he is well traveled in it. And the word boat doesn't really do it justice it's more like a ship – or a vessel. This time of year he can often be found off the New England coast on it. I found some pictures of it and you could live very comfortably on this beauty. It has everything! Well, someone could live on it. I'm not sure I would want to live on a boat. I'd have to think on that. Gibbs could – maybe – this particular one might not be rustic enough for his liking though. And it certainly wouldn't fit in his basement."
"And how exactly does he afford this vessel?" the director inquired.
"He is the CFO of a company called EdgeTrek. They sell high end adventure sport equipment. Everything from mountain bikes to technical climbing gear to all the cool techie gadgets that go with adventure sports. I don't know how he has time to be a CFO though because he's kind of busy traveling and competing."
"Competing?" McGee questioned.
"Ya know how earlier I said that the Blue Northern wasn't his only boat. He has several and a few are sailboats. He's into competitive sailing both individual and team. He's even won some races. And another thing he competes in is shooting competitions. Which is where he met none other than - you guessed it – Devon Davis."
"Well that's interesting," Vance commented. Right away Abby piped back up.
"It is. Another interesting thing is how he affords all these toys and the traveling he does. I mean he's the CFO of EdgeTrek which is doing well and their products are pricey but it's not like it's a mega corporation or anything. I mean how does he live the lifestyle he lives on just that salary?"
"You didn't find any other source of supporting income?" the director proposed.
"Well there's the Wheel, right? Maybe he gets compensation from them."
"No doubt there. How about his family? Does he come from money?"
"For the most part while growing up his family was upper middle class but certainly not rolling in money. He did get his MBA from the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania. He had a partial scholarship and the rest was paid for in cash. Over the years he has worked at some of the largest and wealthiest corporations in the US. Apparently, he's very well regarded in the financial arena. He also does some personal investing and been successful at it. Then about seven years ago he became the CFO for EdgeTrek. Which was a little hinky because from what I can tell he would have taken a considerable cut in salary by making that move. And he seems to embrace the comforts money brings."
"Jameson have any link to law enforcement or military? What connects him to The Wheel?" McGee's voice came over the speakerphone.
"That I can answer. So glad you asked. He has two children. One is an officer in the Navy and the other is in the Coast Guard."
"And when did they join?" Vance inquired.
"The son has been in CGS for ten years and the daughter in the Navy for six," Abby offered up in reply. Vance immediately spoke back up.
"There's the link. And it was what about two years after the son joined the Coast Guard and just before the daughter went into the Navy that Jameson gave up his high paying salary to go over to EdgeTrek. Makes one wonder. Especially since the precise sources and movements of The Wheel's funding have never been completely nailed down. We always considered that they may have companies that were legit on the surface but were used to flow money through. As CFO Jameson could easily make that happen. Find out who else is involved with EdgeTrek and any other information that might be relevant."
"Will do Director. What would you like to hear about next? The trace I found on Davis' clothing or maybe the boot prints from the apartment? Oh I know! The text messages on his phone! Those are definitely a conversation starter."
"Not tonight Ms. Sciuto. Go home. Get some rest. You can report all that in the morning."
With a disappointed nod of the head Abby reluctantly agreed.
"Agent McGee I will call you back from my cell momentarily," Vance continued.
"Copy that Director. I'll talk to you tomorrow Abby," Tim responded.
"Oh wait McGee! I wanted to tell you one quick thing."
"We had a deal Ms. Sciuto," the director chimed in with.
"I know I swear it'll only take two seconds. Well, okay, maybe ten seconds. But no more."
"Go ahead," Vance conceded.
"McGee, you know that license photo you sent me from Jack Cutter's ID?"
"Yeah. What about it?"
"I got a hit on facial recognition."
"That's great! Who is he?"
"His name is Everett Grady. He was from Montana. And he died ten years ago from a heart attack. Suffered from long term heart disease."
McGee did not hesitate in offering up a reaction – irritation thick in his voice.
"So Cutter stole the photo of some poor dead guy and made up a fake id with it. That's real nice. I can't wait to get my hands on Cutter. Give him a piece of my mind. Did you find any link between the two?"
"Nothing yet. Grady worked at a car dealership. Their top salesman in fact. Had a wife and a whole bushel of kids. Lived in Helena his entire life. Pretty normal from what I have found so far."
"Could be a dead end. But it was worth a shot," McGee responded. Disappointment and exhaustion heavy in his voice. Director Vance took the opening and spoke up.
"Alright. Quitting time Ms. Sciuto. We had a deal. Agent McGee our call will be brief. When it's over you and the team are to do only two things."
"What's that Director?"
"Eat and sleep. Start fresh in the morning. Are we clear?"
"Yes sir."
"Bye McGee!" Abby chimed in.
"Night Abby," he replied. Their goodbye prompted Vance to take his leave and headed for the elevator.
Abby hit the release button on the phone disconnecting the call. She picked up her Caf Pow and took an elongated sip through its straw. After she was done she set the drink down on the desk and started to go about powering down her computer.
Seemingly on their own her thoughts began replaying the phone conversation in her mind. And she suddenly realized why. McGee had said that Ziva and Moore were out hunting down food. Tim had been on the phone line with them. But there hadn't been a peep out of Gibbs. In fact McGee had not even mentioned him at all. Neither had the director. And now that she reflected on it a moment she realized it had been a few phone conversations since anyone had mentioned the team leader. And now McGee and the Director were having private briefings.
She didn't like it one bit.
Something horribly hinky was going on. And she was going to get to the bottom of it.
Scooping up the phone she hit the first selection on her speed dial buttons. But no ringing sound ever arrived. Instead the generic automated message on their fearless leader's voicemail started up. So she hung up and then tried it again for good measure – and got the same result.
Now she was positive there was trouble. Gibbs always picked up for her. And it wasn't like they were in the middle of something critical where he couldn't answer the call. McGee said they were just getting something to eat. There was no reason it should have gone to voicemail – not any good or acceptable one anyway.
Abby drummed her fingers on the table top and bit down hard on her lower lip. After a long moment of thought she came to only one conclusion which she spoke out loud to the empty lab surrounding her.
"Someone has a lot of explaining to do – Special Agent Timothy McGee - you better not be holding out on me with what's up or I promise that you will regret it – a lot."
o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o&o
Tony lifted his head up away from where he had rested it against the wall. Opening his eyes he rapidly flitted his gaze around at his surroundings. Just for a moment he had needed to reorient himself to his whereabouts and the current state of affairs. It quickly came tumbling back to him and he slowed his frantic visual searching and took a closer look around.
The Molly Anne was on the smaller side but certainly well kept. Its owner clearly put some pride and a whole lot of elbow grease into the boat. He noticed right off that everything was squared away in its place and all the right emergency equipment was present and well prepared. He had learned long ago, mostly from Gibbs, that the state of a boat could speak volumes about its owner.
And this boat may not have been large and it was clearly a workhorse but the owner obviously treated it respectfully and made the best out of what he could afford. Tony was definitely still on alert but somehow his impression of the owner through his boat took the edge off. Considering his exhausted state he was grateful for that. Not to mention that pretty much every inch of his body had some sort of complaint it wanted him to be acutely aware of. His back in particular left like it was on fire. Pushing away the approaching memory of how that came to be the case he went back to pondering his state of exhaustion once again.
Just the short climb out of the rowboat onto the fishing vessel had drained the tiny shred of energy he had managed to build up during their brief journey in the smaller craft. It had not been long after they had set out that the darkness had been cut through by the intense flood lights of the Molly Anne.
While in the rowboat Tony had wanted to pull his weight and help with the rowing but it had been a struggle to simply hold onto consciousness so grasping onto an oar had pretty much been out of the question. Instead he had floated in a semi awake haze for most of the ride. Every so often rousing enough to check the compass to ensure they were still headed south.
In the short string of moments now and again in which he had been more aware he had watched Gibbs. Clearly the team leader had intended to mask the discomfort he was in but Tony had caught the subtle tell tale clues - a particular crease in the man's brow, the stiffness in his neck, the ghosting of a hard set to his jaw, the repeated clenching and releasing of his grasp around the oar's handle.
The realization that he still recognized the faint signs sent a wave of relief cresting within Tony. He had been anxious that perhaps the years gone by may have unraveled the connection which had existed between the two of them in the past. That their physical separation had disconnected them in their knowledge of one another.
But with their conversation back on The Blue Northern and now with having been able to read Gibbs' body language it had reassured him that just maybe the time and the distance had not done as much damage as he had feared.
It certainly didn't feel like they had seen each other every day or that they had never been separated but being able to see in Gibbs what others mostly likely would not have been able to detect alleviated an ache that Tony had felt since the possibility of being reunited had come about.
When he had left DC Tony had known that realistically he would probably never see Gibbs or the team again. But somewhere down deep a piece of him had been worried and saddened by the thought that if he ever did get the chance that he would discover his bond to them had been severed by distance and the passage of time. Confirming that the connection had not vanished in its entirety grounded him a bit.
Then again if he and Gibbs managed to pull this off and not end up as fish food then Tony would have more connections to test. He was having difficulty fathoming that a real possibility existed that he might be reunited with the rest of the team as well. It was surreal to think that he might see Tim, Ziva, Abby, Ducky and even Palmer again – maybe even within a few hours time.
He had spent the last four years sealing over the gaping hole their absence in his life had created. In the beginning he had had to remind himself every single day that living without them hurt less than the alternative. Better they were alive and he just couldn't see them anymore than living with their deaths.
He swallowed down hard on the flood of realization that sent through him.
If he was reunited with the team they would once again be in danger. It had already proven so what with the bullet Gibbs had taken. What if next time someone paid with their life?
These questions inevitably sparked in him the all too familiar urge to run. Maybe once they were back on solid ground he should try to get away off on his own. Of course, that was easier said then done given his injured state and that it would take some serious creative thinking and a truckload of luck to elude Gibbs. But the team lead was injured as well and Tony knew the city like the back of his hand. So those things would lend to an advantage in his favor.
He was abruptly torn from the line of dark thinking by the sound of footsteps descending from the deck. A moment later Gibbs and the boat's owner appeared in the entryway to the cramped galley where Tony was seated.
After helping Tony down below Gibbs had gone up to assist the other man with the rowboat. The plan had been to set the small craft adrift so it could not be spotted with or in any way linked to the Molly Anne.
"Take a load off," the boat's owner offered Gibbs. The man was maybe five eight with a stocky build. His deep booming voice made him seem much larger though. It was difficult to judge his exact age given that, for the most part, his facial features were hidden behind a thick and slightly unruly beard. But the fully grayed hair and aged hands made mid to late fifties a fair guess.
Without saying anything Gibbs actually took the man up on the offer. The small galley kitchen had a wooden table that could be folded up and secured out of the way. It currently stood open. There was a bench set on either side. Tony was seated on the far side with his shoulder leaned up against the wall for support. So Gibbs settled in on the other bench and set the backpack they had gotten from St. Clair down on the table.
"Name's Tappy," Molly Anne's owner piped up introducing himself.
"Good to meet you Tappy. I'm...," the team leader started to respond before being stopped mid sentence by the other man gesturing with a wave of the hand in the air not to continue. Then he explained verbally.
"Don't need any names. Won't be bugging you with any questions. Danny asked me a favor. One I owed him in spades. That's all I need to know."
"Appreciate it," Gibbs told him.
Tony noticed that when he spoke there was something beyond the effects of exhaustion in his voice. There was almost a tremble to it – a kind of rolling waver. But he was so exhausted himself maybe he had imagined it or perhaps what he had heard was actually coming from somewhere in his own body. He was so busted up at this point that it was a distinct possibility that he was the one with the tremor.
"How long til we're back in Portland?" Tony chimed in. Tappy looked from Gibbs over at him and replied.
"Not too long. On my way back in I don't mess around. Straight shot."
"You dock in Portland?"
"This time I have to put up in Yarmouth and drive home to Portland. But long as it's not too far I can drive you boys anywhere you need to go. My truck seats three long as you don't mind close quarters."
"Anywhere downtown Portland would be fine. We'll make our own way from there," Gibbs answered. Tony shot him a glance. He didn't particularly care for the idea of riding around the city with this guy. Somehow it made him feel like they would be sitting ducks. But Gibbs did not seem off set by the idea so clearly Gibbs' gut was not sending up smoke signals.
"You fellas look like you had a rough go of it. So I'm thinking you might be hungry or thirsty. Got some leftover sandwiches if you want 'em. They're down there in the cooler. And some sodas and bottled waters too."
"Wouldn't want to put you out," Gibbs told him. When Tappy answered he did so with a pat to his rather rounded belly.
"There's a big batch of chili and a warm skillet of cornbread waiting for me at home. The wife makes the best around. So I'm building up my appetite. Sandwiches are yours if you want 'em."
"Appreciate it. Thanks," the team leader replied.
"I'll be up top if you boys need anything else. Just come on up and give me a good old shout. Ears aren't what they used to be."
"Will do!" Gibbs stated back. With that Tappy made his way back up to the deck.
"Not really sure I can eat right now Boss," Tony offered up without prompting.
"How long it been DiNozzo?" Gibbs questioned. Really it was less of a question and more of a demand. And Tony knew what he meant. He wanted to know how long it had been since Tony had last eaten something. It took Tony by surprise that he really had to think on the answer. Everything had become a surreal series of blacking out and coming to over and over.
He tried to rewind back through the chain of events and finally stumbled upon the information. At least he was pretty sure he had.
In an attempt to confirm its accuracy he stuffed a hand into his jeans pocket to check for it. Finding the item he sought he pulled it out and tossed the wrapper onto the table. He had hit upon it correctly.
"Granola bar back the church. My internal clock is kind of screwed up so can't say how long ago that was in minutes or hours but I was eating it when I saw Ziva and Agent whats-his-name following Fornell."
"Fornell knows you're alive, right?" Gibbs questioned.
"Had no choice to keep him in the loop."
"But he does know?"
"Yeah he knows. But he thinks I got away."
"Not for long."
"What do you mean?"
"I ran into him. So he knows I'm looking for you."
"So that explains it!" Tony piped up in reply.
"What?"
"Ziva and Langer's long lost cousin tailing Fornell."
"Langer's long lost cousin?" Gibbs inquired clearly baffled.
"Yeah the agent with Ziva. Brown hair and bore a slight resemblance to a certain ex-FBI agent."
"You saw them?"
"From a distance. I was watching for Fornell to signal if it was clear to get to my car."
"Why didn't you come to me DiNozzo?"
Tony could tell that the question was referring not just to the present but the past as well.
"I wanted to. I couldn't Boss. There were lives at stake. I couldn't risk it."
"Fornell is in this up to his eyeballs isn't he?"
"Yeah."
"Details."
Tony didn't immediately respond. He shifted on the seat a little – leaning on the table. Using his elbows to prop up his upper body he placed a hand on either side of his neck and began rubbing the tight sore muscles there. The lull in the conversation gave him a moment to focus and organize his thoughts. When he finally spoke up the words sounded foreign to his own ears. With the exception of his brief talk with Fornell he had not spoken about his real past in so long the tale was almost like talking about a dream.
"My cover got blown. To this day I don't know by who or how. But The Wheel found out why I was really there. They delivered threats. I'd find them slipped under my apartment door – on my car windshield – envelopes of photos that when you first looked at them seem unremarkable. But they contained threats to my friends and their families if you interpreted them a certain way. They were nothing we could use against the organization. Too easily argued as misinterpreted. But their message was clear. I join the Wheel for real or they'd carry out the threats. And they made it impossible to for me to pretend to go along. In order to show I was joining them for real I would have to complete an assignment that involved something I couldn't go through with. It left me with little in the way of options. So Fornell came up with the idea of faking my death. I didn't want to do it - to do that to you guys - but there was just no other option left. If I was alive and didn't join them they wouldn't stop until they carried out every one of the scenarios in their photos. There was nothing else I could do Boss."
"Did what you had to."
"But you're still pissed."
"Well yeah DiNozzo. I'm kinda ticked. You should have come to me."
"It wouldn't have worked. They didn't just threaten the team. They threatened everyone's families. Despite what you think you couldn't have protected them all. Faking my death was the only way to do that."
"I knew that bastard was lying to me the other day."
"Don't be too hard on Fornell, Boss. He got me what I needed the times when I got stuck. He raced up here to help me out of this jam. He risked being discovered as the one who put me under in The Wheel. And now...," Tony went about explaining until the reality of what he had been about to say truly sunk in for the first time.
"And now what?" Gibbs quietly urged after a moment passed by and Tony hadn't continued. After taking a deep breath to collect himself a bit he filled Gibbs in. The words came out with a trace of doubt accompanying them in his tone.
"Greene told me he figured out who it was put me under in The Wheel. He didn't give a name or anything though."
"You think he was bluffing. Saying he knew when he didn't."
"Maybe. I wouldn't put it past him to use it like a weapon. Saying he figured it out."
"I sense a but in there."
"There was something in his expression that made it seem true."
"So he may be onto Fornell."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"Soon as we get back with the team we'll locate him. Warn him."
"I had hoped that he had headed back to DC. Not that it's really safe either but at least he's on familiar ground there. People to watch his back. God I hope I'm wrong."
"But if you're not then we'll have his six," Gibbs stated in reply.
Tony looked over at him and silently agreed. Blowing out a heavy exhale he felt lighter somehow. A bit of weight had lifted away from him.
And suddenly he realized why. He was no longer alone in his fight.
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Tobias cut the engine of the Honda. After pulling the key from the ignition he stuffed it into his pants pocket and looked out through the windshield.
The parking lot was filled to the brim with vehicles but they were all parked and empty. And there was not a single solitary person out and about. Not surprising as the hour was now very late.
His gaze flitted past the rows of darkened cars to the street beyond. Drawn there for some reason he held his gaze intently on the road for a long moment. During the stretch in which he watched not one car drove by.
Just as he was about to look away the glow of headlights down at the intersection halted his gaze's departure. The vehicle took the turn at the light quickly but then slowed as it neared the parking lot where Fornell sat in his car. His view of the vehicle no longer obstructed by the intensity of the headlights he could see it was a black cargo van. But the distance was too great to see a plate or even the make of the vehicle.
The van had slowed so much from its earlier speed as it approached that he was sure it would turn into the lot. And Fornell found his hand automatically slipping underneath his coat where he settled his fingers on the grip of the weapon holstered there. But instead of entering the lot the van lazily rolled on by and off down the street. Then finally made a left at the end of the block.
It was not until it had disappeared out of sight completely that his fingers lifted off the gun.
The street now empty out in front of him the FBI agent shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. All he found in the reflection there was more empty cars and the entrance to his hotel. The joint was certainly not as nice as the one Team Gibbs was staying at but given the alias Tobias had selected to travel under anything more upscale would have been out of character with his cover.
Fornell let out a breath and dropped his gaze away from the mirror. Something had him tensed up but he couldn't quite identify it yet.
Perhaps it was nothing more than his growing agitation. He was really beginning to get ticked off at this point.
At first, Gibbs not answering his calls had been expected. After all they were unidentified calls as he was using a burner phone and even if they hadn't been the NCIS team lead probably would have ignored them anyway just to piss him off – at least in the beginning.
But now after calling numerous times, going over to the hotel, and hanging around the café across the street until such point as his posterior had drifted off to sleep and the manager of the joint had started shutting off lights Fornell had now become short on amusement and on the verge of serious irritation.
Before he could return to DC he needed to know what Team Gibbs knew to assure that they were no longer tight on Tony's, or rather Jack Cutter's, trail. He had sat at the café across from the Harborside Hotel for quite a while without any sign of the NCIS team.
At one point he had returned to the hotel's third floor intending to carry out his earlier plan of gaining access to the team's rooms to do a bit of poking around. But as soon as he had exited out onto the floor from the stairwell it had become clear that wasn't going to happen.
The hallway looked more like that of a college dormitory than one in a reputable hotel. Before turning back towards the stairs he had overheard a snippet of conservation – something about a CPA conference. Who knew accountants partied so hard?
He had left the hotel without alerting anyone to the goings on up on the third floor. It was best that no one ever knew he had been there.
So he had returned to the café and ordered his next cup of coffee then settled in at a table near the window to stake out the hotel for a while longer.
It had been right about the time that police cruisers began pulling up outside the hotel, likely called by an annoyed guest, that the café manager had begun turning out the lights on him. At that point the cosmos were clearly telling him that it was time to call it a night.
So here he sat in the parking lot outside his hotel. As exhausted as he was it seemed he would have not delayed heading up to his room and hitting the hay. But he couldn't seem to shake the tension in his body and the hyper alert state of his brain. It had kicked in right around the time he had pulled out of the parking spot down the block from the cafe.
On the drive he had even glanced in the rearview mirror a few times when there was no traffic related reason to do so. And without even realizing what he was doing at first he had taken an extended haphazard route to get to his destination.
Tobias shook his head at own actions.
It was probably just his exhausted body and mind playing tricks on him. Or more likely yet it was the string of coffee refills he had drank while at the cafe. At least he truly hoped that was all it was.
And he was done being patient. Come daylight one Special Agent Tim McGee was going to get a little wake up call. He had a feeling that the younger man would not be able to resist curiosity upon seeing the words Unknown Caller pop up on his caller id. He'd answer. Fornell did not doubt it for a moment.
Taking one last glance around at the dimly lit lot he reached up and pushed in the button on the overhead light bringing it to life. Now with a bit of light filling the interior of the car he pulled out a set of folded papers from his coat pocket. He opened them up and looked down at the writing there.
It struck him sharply that the words scrawled out in black ink on the white paper might be the last time he saw DiNozzo's handwriting. The words of their last conversation echoed out clearly in his mind.
"If the Jeep pans out you won't hear from me. I can't do this again. Have my old life brought to the surface. I can't keep a clear head with my old life mixed in. It's too...," Tony started to say then paused. He looked away off down the darkened hallway for an instant then back to Fornell.
"Hard. Painful," Tobias suggested.
"Something like that. Anyway, I was hoping you might hang onto something for me. Ya know just in case," Tony responded and pulled a single piece of folded paper from inside his jacket. He handed it to Fornell.
"What's this?" the FBI agent questioned.
"A letter. For my team. In case I don't make it."
"You'll make it, kid. If avalanches, tornadoes, crazed animals and lightning can't take you down then The Wheel doesn't stand a chance in hell."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'll do my best to live up to it."
"I'm going to hold you to that."
"Roger that."
As the remnants of the remembered conversation faded away in his mind Tobias flipped through the stack of papers. He stopped at the last page, recognizing it as the one he was looking for. He separated it out from the rest of the pile, folded it into fourths and slipped it back into his pants pocket.
He had not and would not read that page. It was the letter Tony had written to Team Gibbs in the event he didn't make it. It was private and would be tucked away somewhere secure. He just prayed that he would never have to retrieve it because it needed to be delivered.
Looking down at the remaining pages he began reading over the notes which Tony had jotted down as things he had recalled from his time in The Wheel. Things that had not seemed important then but that with some distance and the passage of time had clung to him nonetheless. Those little nagging things that fester at the far reaches of your mind until you can no longer brush them off as just extraneous details and unimportant tidbits of information.
As he read Tobias Fornell searched amongst the words scrawled out in that black ink to find even the smallest of clues that would bring Agent DiNozzo home and end The Wheel once and for all.
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Police cruisers filled the parking spots along the sidewalk in front of the Harborside Hotel. None of the vehicles were occupied. Likely the officers belonging to them were either inside the building or attending to something nearby.
"I don't like this, Boss," Tony commented as his gaze studied the scene around the corner. After being dropped off by Tappy a few streets over they had made their way to the hotel using side streets and alleyways. They now stood in the narrow alley adjacent to the brick building across the street from the hotel. Their presence there was shrouded by the shadows which came with the late hour.
"Probably just some unruly guests. Saw a bunch down the hall looked like they could be trouble," Gibbs replied.
"Awful lot of response for something like that, don't you think? What if they're Wheel members sent looking for us? Wheel would be able to find out where you were staying easy enough."
"Sent by who DiNozzo? Greene probably doesn't even know we're gone yet. We got back to the harbor pretty quick. And if he does know he's hardly had enough time to rally the troops."
"What about St. Clair? He could have alerted them?"
"Whole lot of trouble to go through. He's not exactly on my Christmas card list. But I don't see him helping us escape only to turn around and sig other Wheel members on us. Sides there's no way he was getting out of those ropes and cuffs. I didn't go light on them. That make any sense to you, DiNozzo?"
"I don't know. Guess not. Doesn't mean I trust the man."
"Yeah. I kind of got that impression."
"Well, he didn't really give much of a reason to."
"And people give me grief that my standards are high," Gibbs commented.
"You trust him?"
"Wouldn't go that far. But earned a little credit? Yeah."
"It's just.."
"Just what, Tony?"
"Never mind," he replied and shifted his gaze back across the street. When he showed no sign of shifting it back Gibbs spoke up. His voice quiet but firm.
"Hey! DiNozzo. Look at me."
It took a long beat but Tony finally looked over at him.
"You trust me?" Gibbs questioned.
"Of course I do Boss. I just…well, I…," the younger man began to answer until what he wanted to say seem to get lost.
"Can't trust anyone else?" the team lead offered.
"Suppose you could put it that way."
"I get it. I do. Last four years you had no choice but to live by that rule."
"I sense a but coming."
"But you can follow my lead, right?"
"I can. But I got a bad feeling about this. We should wait until they clear out."
"DiNozzo how many ways can I say it. Those cops aren't here for us."
"How do you know?"
"Just do. Let's go DiNozzo."
"Can't do it Boss."
"The team's in there. There's weapons. And means of communication. It's where we need to be."
"I'm not saying you don't have a point."
"But you still refuse to follow my lead."
"I know somewhere we can go to wait it out. Safe house. Give it a bit and come back and see if they cleared out. If they are gone then they weren't here for us. But if they are still around then maybe I'm right."
Gibbs looked from Tony over to the hotel. He was truly tempted to force the younger man across the street and into the building. But several things halted the urge. The physical state Tony was in would draw attention to them – the unwanted kind of attention. Not to mention the bloody and ripped state of his own shirt from the gunshot wound.
And they couldn't slip in the back or side doors because he no longer had his access card. It had been the only decent breadcrumb he had at hand to leave in St. Clair's truck. So they would have to go in through the front and the odds of making it through the lobby unnoticed were slim at best.
Another issue was that he was wary of pushing Tony right now. The younger man seemed on the verge of his stubborn streak kicking into overdrive and that wouldn't do him much good. Gibbs wasn't sure how much more DiNozzo could hold up under.
In some ways the younger man was precisely how he had been four years prior but there was something less familiar coming through as well. A hardness or edge which had never been so solid or sharp – so prominent - before. And for some reason that made his heart ache.
"Alright. We'll play it your way," Gibbs finally declared.
"You'll see Boss. Can't be too careful."
"So this place to lie low close by?"
"Safe house I set up. Not too far."
"Then let's get a move on DiNozzo," Gibbs announced and slung the younger man's arm around his shoulders once again. Turning away from the hotel they made their way back down the alley. Emerging at the end onto the narrow street on the other side Gibbs stopped. Tony spoke up in answer to the silent question the halt to their progress posed.
"This way Boss. Not far," he stated with a nod of the head to their left.
As they made their way down the deserted street and further and further away from the Harborside Hotel the team leader had to bite down more and more on the doubts occupying his thoughts.
By literally turning their backs on the hotel they were cutting themselves off from the team. But every time the doubt poked at him the look he had seen in Tony's eyes a few moments earlier flashed in his mind's eye.
Something dark and solid had taken up residence in them – something rooted and immovable. Something defiant and almost volatile. It made Gibbs realize that if he pushed too hard the other man might not just push back but push away.
It suddenly occurred to him that after four years in hiding Tony's reflex to the threat of possibly being seen and identified might be the urge to run. And if that kicked in and he got it set in his mind it would be hell and high water to keep him from succeeding – injured or not.
So with that Gibbs had known that no matter what he had said to Tony it would not budge him. As long as the police were there the younger man would continue to refuse to go anywhere near the hotel. He simply had to hope that the safe house was close enough that they weren't in the open too long and that coming back to check in a few hours would be easily manageable.
Especially since with every block they seem to cover the more unwell he himself felt. His muscles ached something fierce. The dull throbbing in his head had evolved into a vice like pressure. And nausea seemed be burrowing through the lining of his stomach and up into his throat. He prayed it was just exhaustion, dehydration, and the overuse of his wounded arm finally getting the best of him. And not the result of the poison which had been injected into his system.
He needed a little longer – just long enough to get Tony to the protection of the team. That's all he asked. Then whatever was going to happen could go ahead and happen. But before it did he needed to finish this. He needed to know Tony was with those who could be trusted. And he would not go down until it was done.
Poisoned or not he would not allow that bastard Greene to win this battle.
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William Tucker Greene shot up from his seat as the Sea Ray SLX skimmed over the water in approach to the larger vessel. Greene's sudden shift in position had drawn the attention of Marcus Jameson who looked up from inspecting EdgeTrek's latest product - a six hundred dollar watch that could do everything just shy of making your bed and cooking dinner for you.
Seeing that Greene's attention was directed out over the boat's bow he shifted his gaze to mirror its objective. And his reaction was the same as Greene's as he realized what had captured the other man's attention.
The Blue Northern was completely dark.
"What the hell?" he spat out and sprang up.
But Greene didn't respond. Just continued to remain focused on the Northern as the lights from their own smaller speed boat cast a glow up ahead. This wasn't right. Something had happened and the lack of even a single light on the Northern did not bode well for the outcome of whatever it had been.
"Weapons gentlemen," Greene instructed.
Marcus tucked the watch away in his pants pocket and turned to the bench he and Billy had just been seated on. The bench doubled as a storage box so he went about lifting up the seat which was the lid to the unit.
First he selected out a Remington, a make which Greene seemed to favor, and handed it off to him. Then he pulled out a Colt for Nolan who was currently piloting the Sea Ray they were on. And finally an HK for himself. Each of them already had a handgun on their person as well. After closing up the gun storage he moved to the front of the boat and offered the weapon to Nolan who took hold of it while still steering them towards the Northern.
Returning to the stern he opened another smaller compartment and pulled out ammo, flashlights and night vision goggles. Just as he completed that task they were arriving at the side of the larger boat.
Nolan positioned the speed boat in line with the ladder on the Northern. After squaring away the Sea Ray so it could be left unattended he joined the other two men at the back. Marcus divvied up the equipment and ammo, handing Nolan and Greene each a set.
Billy was the first to ready himself and made for the side of the boat near the ladder. Marcus practically dove after him just barely catching him by the shirt sleeve. Greene stopped and looked back - first glaring down at Marcus' hand which still grasped hold of the fabric of his shirt and then up at Jameson himself. He didn't say anything, simply looked Marcus straight in the eye expectant of an explanation.
"You shouldn't go first – ya know in case. It's also my boat so seems I should take up the front."
Greene acknowledged his acceptance by stepping aside and allowing Marcus to cross from the boat onto the ladder. Greene followed him and Nolan took up the rear.
Reaching the top Marcus quickly slid over the side onto the Northern. Weapon raised he scanned for any immediate threat. Finding none he signaled to Greene that it was clear so far. He stood guard while the other two men boarded.
Then fanning out slightly they methodically went about searching the deck for anyone or any other threat. They were about halfway along when Billy put up his hand signaling for the other two to stop and be still.
Marcus listened intently for a moment still scanning his surroundings as he did so. It was not long before he heard it. Muffled sounds coming from beyond a pile of gear and a large storage box which were up ahead.
There was another sound which accompanied it – a tink tink sound like metal clinking against metal.
Greene glanced over to him and Marcus gave a nod telling him he had heard it. Greene shifted to looking at Nolan who gave the same acknowledgment.
Billy then signaled again with his hand, indicating for Marcus to go around from the left and Nolan to go right. Greene would take the more direct route. Marcus Jameson didn't particularly care for that plan. Greene seemed not to be giving much thought to putting himself in the most direct line of fire. With what was in the works inside The Wheel Billy should be kept in the most protected position.
Instead he seemed thrown off from his usual attentive forethought by this whole Agent DiNozzo business. But it wasn't like Marcus could put up debate right at the moment so he simply did as Greene directed and went left to make his way back in around towards the noises.
The three of them converged on its source simultaneously. Marcus couldn't believe his eyes. There was Greene's man, St. Clair, seated on the deck of the boat bound with rope and secured to the railing with handcuffs. The tink tink sound had been him clinking the cuffs locked around his wrists into the metal railing in attempt to draw their attention. And the muffled noises had been him calling out with his mouth taped over.
Greene rushed over to where St. Clair was restrained. Immediately he reached down and ripped the duct tape away from the other man's mouth. There was a beat in which St. Clair winced from the discomfort the action had inflicted. But the instant he recovered he filled them in. The words tumbling out in rapid succession.
"They're gone! The power went out. I went to check on Agent Gibbs. He surprised me - ambushed me. He got free somehow. We struggled. That son of a bitch got my gun. He forced me at gunpoint up here. Then he and DiNozzo escaped."
"Sutton?" Greene questioned.
"I don't know. Last time I saw him was before the power went out. He was in the galley - drinking," St. Clair answered. He just barely got the end of the answer out when Greene bolted – taking off at a dead run toward the doorway which lead below deck.
"Go!" Marcus tossed out at Nolan who immediately set out after Billy. Jameson then headed over to St. Clair.
"Looks like he got you pretty good there," Marcus commented looking down at the bloody gash on St. Clair's temple and the rapidly forming black eye.
"It's nothing. You waiting for a formal request. Untie me already!"
"Can't do that."
"Why the fuck not?" St. Clair snapped at him.
"Because Greene didn't say one way or the other. So you stay the way you are until he comes back. He says untie you then I'll be more than obliged. If he says otherwise then you're out of luck."
St. Clair glared up at him. The look in his eyes told the story. He was pissed off but more telling underneath was that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed by being bested by Agent Gibbs and found by Greene tied up and handcuffed to a railing.
Marcus stared back down at him with indifference. But really he felt for the guy. By the looks of him he had put up a pretty good fight. Marcus knew that Billy would at the least give him some credit for that loyalty and effort.
It was the whole prisoners escaping thing that might not go down so well.
"Just tell the truth and I think you'll be okay," Jameson offered the other man.
"Right. The truth. Got it," St. Clair replied.
"How'd they leave?" Marcus inquired.
"Rowboat," St. Clair responded with a jerk of the head in the direction of where the small craft had been stored.
Marcus' gaze shifted to the now empty spot but before he could reply the door leading down below flew open. Greene reappeared up onto the deck. He was literally towing a barely conscious Sutton behind him by use of a vice grip around the cloth at the front of the young man's shirt. Nolan followed after them as they made their way over to Marcus and St. Clair.
Jameson looked at Billy as he approached and counted his lucky stars that he was not Daniel St. Clair or Jay Sutton at the moment. Because if the rage filled expression on William Tucker Greene's face and the fury burning in his eyes were anything to go by there was going to be hell to pay.
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Giving one more hard tug the black plastic bag came free from its hiding space behind the wall.
"Geez DiNozzo! What the hell did you put in here?" Gibbs questioned as he dragged the large bag clear of the bricks strewn around the floor.
Upon arriving at Tony's safe house, an old abandoned business building of some kind down in the warehouse district of town, the younger man had lead them to a back room. There he had shown Gibbs a brick wall behind which he had stowed away supplies. Since the bricks were already loose it had not taken long to dismantle the section of wall to retrieve them.
"All the comforts of home of course. What would a safe house be without Egyptian cotton sheets and an espresso machine," Tony replied.
To this Gibbs let out a faint chuckle. Somehow it was comforting to hear the humor inserted into a heavy situation. Over the last few years he had come to realize just how much they had counted on Tony for levity in dark moments. Although it had not always been appropriate it was at the very least a brief distraction from the intensity of the grisly task at hand.
"We're hiding from an arrogant SOB with some serious delusions of grandeur and who has one rather trigger happy henchmen and you're worried about sheets DiNozzo?" he snapped in feigned irritation.
"Appreciating being alive is all in the thread count Boss."
A short beat of silence passed then Tony piped up again.
"Or in this case the quality of the down. North Face, eight hundred fill down, rated to negative twenty," he added as he pulled a sleeping bag out of the plastic bag.
"Hell more useful than Egyptian cotton sheets," Gibbs commented.
"And it's very comfy too. Used it when I was here before. Stayed here that night after you showed up at Travelers."
"Safe house. That was good thinking Tony."
Silence fell between them for a long moment while they pulled the remaining items out of the bag. When Tony finally spoke up his thoughts were clearly still on remembering that day at the pub.
"How's McGee?" he inquired.
"Black and blue," Gibbs stated flatly.
"Oh boy. Not a pretty sight huh? Boss I just...," Tony started to say but was cut off by the other man before he could finish.
"Discussion for another time DiNozzo."
"Can't say as I am looking forward to that."
Gibbs looked up from the small camp lantern he had just turned on and over at Tony. The look conveyed the message that despite understanding why Tony had done what he had done he wasn't happy about it. Tony had given McGee a broken nose and a concussion when he had kicked him in the face. Not to mention the scare he himself had received coming around that corner and seeing his agent lying motionless on the cement – his face covered in blood.
Breaking the eye contact the team leader looked around the room. Spotting a couple of chairs amongst the collection of file cabinets, boxes and other debris he set the lantern down on one of them. The glow from the light was enough to illuminate most of the room. Only the corners were left in shadow.
Gibbs picked up the sack containing the sleeping bag. Pulling it out he unzipped the bag and went about laying it out on the floor. After that was done he picked up the first aid kit he had discovered in DiNozzo's supplies.
Then going into the backpack which St. Clair had given them he pulled out some additional medical supplies. He deposited both the kit and the plastic bag provided by St. Clair on the top of the sleeping bag.
Then finally he went over to where he had set down the lantern. He picked up the lantern and the chair moving them closer to the sleeping bag.
In response to this action Tony who had been digging around in a duffle bag containing clothing and other assorted items stopped what he was doing and piped up.
"Whatcha ya doin' Boss?" he asked.
"I need to take a look at your back," Gibbs responded while pulling out a flashlight from Tony's hiking pack.
"It's tolerable. I can wait," the younger man replied and went back to searching for something in the duffle.
"It wasn't the opening of a negotiation DiNozzo."
Tony glanced over at him with a flash of defiance burning bright in his eyes. But he didn't give anything in the way of a verbal reply. He returned to searching through the bag finally coming up with a leather sheath. It held a hunting knife.
"Got some 9mm ammo in here too for that Glock you took off St. Clair," he commented in attempt to change the subject.
Gibbs was tempted to mention that he had overheard some of what had taken place back on the boat and had a good idea of what had happened to Tony's back. Then the younger man wouldn't really be able to debate that it needed attention.
Instead he gave a stern nod of the head down in the direction at the sleeping bag indicating that Tony needed to have a seat there.
After a long beat Tony set aside the duffle and reluctantly settled down on top of the sleeping bag.
It was normal for Tony to brush off attention to any real injuries he received and the 'it can wait' offering had not been unexpected either. But there had been something more complex to the defiance in his eyes. It had held almost a streak of desperation or even resentment in it.
While mulling it over in his head in attempt to identify what it was precisely Gibbs knelt down on the sleeping bag behind the younger man. As he sat back on his heels both of his knees instantly ached in complaint. The ache itself was not new and hadn't been in years but the sheer fierceness of it was a recent addition. He hoped it was simply the toll of everything from over the last few days and not a manifestation of the toxin resident in his body.
While he got settled and went about getting some of the first aid supplies laid out Tony had begun unbuttoning his shirt. But seemed to stall out short of actually taking if off.
"Need it all the way off to do this DiNozzo."
But the younger man didn't resume removing the shirt. Instead he fidgeted a bit then seemed to almost deflate – slumping down to rest his elbows on his legs and let his head loll downward as well.
"What's going on Tony?"
But the other man did not so much as indicate that he had even heard the question.
"DiNozzo," Gibbs prompted quietly and set a hand on the other man's shoulder in attempt to draw his focus back to the task at hand. Tony's head snapped up and he shot a glare back over his shoulder at the team leader.
"Give a guy a minute, would ya?" he snapped out tightly - almost breathlessly.
Gibbs removed his hand from Tony's shoulder and DiNozzo looked away once again. But the brief exchange had provided Gibbs an ounce of insight.
Before there had been the defiance in his eyes and now there was a near panic in his voice. Then Gibbs had seen something else flicker in his eyes for just an instant. And recognition of it made his heart ache. It had held a mixture of embarrassment and shame.
"Talk to me," Gibbs offered gently. A long string of seconds passed by in which Tony fidgeted restlessly. But even with his back to Gibbs the team lead could tell if he waited out the other man then he would eventually offer some sort of verbal reply. When it came Tony practically spat it out with agitation spilling over the words.
"I hate this."
His suspicion confirmed Gibbs moved so he was seated down beside Tony. Then spoke up.
"Hey! Tony. Listen to me. You have nothing to feel embarrassed about. You have absolutely no reason to hang your head. You survived. That's no small thing, You hear me? Not everyone would have come out the other side of that somewhat intact. Some wouldn't have come out at all."
Tony didn't respond straight away. Instead he looked across the room. But Gibbs could tell the other man was just working things out in his head. And after a moment DiNozzo looked over at him. The look in his eyes had shifted.
"I know. I know that. I guess exhaustion has my head kind of screwed on crooked is all."
"You'd better know DiNozzo."
"I'm square now Boss."
Satisfied with the answer Gibbs returned to his position behind the other man. And Tony finally shed the blood soaked shirt and tossed it aside.
When he got his first look at Tony's back Gibbs' breath hitched for a few heartbeats. It was now clear that his guess had been spot on.
Long raw lacerations littered the other man's skin from the area of his shoulder blades down to his lower back. Several were deep and inflamed. Whatever had made them had not been all that thick or wide. But it had been wielded without mercy. Gibbs swallowed down hard against the lump in his throat as he realized what it had been that had likely been their cause. That bastard had beaten Tony with a belt.
There were other wounds – small and rounded. Gibbs studied these one after another. As he did so it became more and more clear what had inflicted them. Someone had taken a knife, placed the tip against the skin of Tony's back and then turned the knife in circles drilling it, burrowing it, inward.
Lastly, there were the small burns on Tony's neck and upper shoulders which St. Clair had told him about. They were several in number but, fortunately, most were only first degree.
Gibbs closed his eyes and braced himself as red hot anger boiled up inside him. He fought to contain it – fought to stay still and composed. When what he really wanted to do was storm off to find William Tucker Greene and tear the man apart.
But that was not what Tony needed him to do right then. So instead he snatched up the bottle of antiseptic from Tony's first aid kit and some cotton pads.
"You ready?" he asked Tony quietly. There was a silent beat while Gibbs poured some of the antiseptic onto the cotton. By the time he finished the other man finally spoke up.
"Does anyone ever say yes to that question in this situation?" he questioned sarcastically.
The renewed spirit in Tony's voice almost made him smile. The reality of the discomfort he was about to cause the younger man cut it short of arriving on the surface of his features. But it had to be done so he started in on cleaning up Tony's wounds. Then he would bandage the worst of them.
By the time he had finished a long string of minutes later Tony was completely wiped out both physically and mentally. While Gibbs put away the medical supplies Tony lowered himself down onto his side on the sleeping bag - laying still and closing his eyes.
The team leader retrieved the duffle bag of clothing Tony had been digging through earlier. He pulled out two t-shirts and a sweat jacket with a full zipper. He tossed one of the t-shirts onto the empty side of the sleeping bag. The other shirt he used to nudge DiNozzo's hand so he would open his eyes. Realizing what Gibbs had intended it for the younger man took it from him and stuffed it under his head as a pillow.
"Thanks Boss," he offered. Gibbs nodded in reply and Tony's eyes drifted closed once again. The team leader then went about laying the sweat jacket over Tony's upper body. All the while being careful not to brush it too much against Tony's back.
That done he moved over to his own side of the sleeping bag and sat down. Happening to glance over at DiNozzo he saw the other man reach over and pick up the knife he had gotten from the duffle earlier. His grasp tight around the leather sheath containing it he slipped the weapon underneath the jacket covering him.
Gibbs made a mental note not to awaken him too suddenly. They would rest a few hours then head over to the hotel.
Balling up the t-shirt he had tossed onto his side of the bag he tucked it behind his head and laid back. He didn't need to pull the edge of the sleeping bag over him because despite it being October in Maine he was on the verge of sweating.
Worse yet was that his body had began to go through brief waves of trembling off and on – almost like rounds of shivering. He was beyond exhausted but Gibbs could no longer deny that it was something more. The poison in his blood system was gaining ground on him.
He would close his eyes for a bit without falling asleep and hope that the restful state would take the edge off.
Gibbs lay his hand on top of his stomach. His fingertips placed less than an inch from the grip of the 9mm Glock he had tucked into his waistband.
And finally he allowed his eyelids to drift closed.
To Be Continued...
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Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Coming Up!: Tony and Gibbs' escape may be going smoothly and the team is closing in on The Wheel. But you don't really think that Greene will just let it go, do you? Stay tuned for the action packed multi-chapter conclusion arc of Chasing Jack. Plenty of twists and turns left to navigate. And in the end will it be possible for the entire team to be reunited?