Chapter 23: Lindholm's Return
- - - - -
Lawrence Reed, supervisory special agent, was the leader of the new convoy that descended on the Silver Spring house. As he got out of his van just down the street from the house, a twist of his head motioned that two of his agents bring Marthe Lindholm, still handcuffed, out of the back of the van. "Where is this device?" he asked her.
"In the lab, of course," she sneered. "Did you expect me to say, 'on the coffee table in the living room'?"
"Lady, spare me the attitude. Your side has lost so you have nothing to gloat about. You help us, and legally, we might be able to make things a little easier for you. You don't help us, well, I'd just as soon put you in a cage right now and let the authorities take you away."
"You are so boring, All right. The lab is on the second floor, as you Americans would say, on the south side of the house. It may well be guarded."
"Booby trapped?"
"Heavens, no. We get no visitors to speak of. The guards would be there only because your people have invaded."
Reed didn't rise to the bait, but only turned and walked a few steps away to phone Jenny. "Have you been able to reach Gibbs yet?"
"No; nor DiNozzo, David, Heinz, or Alton. I've been able to reach the others. Gibbs' group, with Heinz and Alton, were last reported to be heading for the lab on the second floor. The other teams are holding their positions, at least until you eight get inside. You should have a clear approach to the second floor."
"Unless whoever jumped Gibbs' group has the second floor cut off."
"I know that's a possibility. Stay safe, Lawrence."
"Will do."
Reed walked back to the heavily-guarded Lindholm. "All right, Ms. Lindholm. We're going in, and you'll be our guide to the second floor. Let's see what you people are hiding there."
She smirked. "Ah, but before that, we need to stop on the first floor. Something crucial to all of this is there…"
- - - - -
He stirred in his sleep; his dreadful, pain-laced sleep. His long frame was twisted on the too-short futon whose foot was cluttered with things big and heavy. There was no way of getting comfortable. The shoddy bandages itched and chafed: some tight with dried blood, others sticky and unpleasant as blood soaked through. The bandages hadn't been changed since…since whatever it was that had happened to him. What was it? He couldn't remember. Most of his memories were a little fuzzy. Paranoia was a word that seemed to be in the forefront of his mind…why? He didn't feel paranoid about anything.
Moving was hard, though he thought he might be able to do a bit of it if he knew where to move to. Faces floated in his mind: Abby…Gibbs…his grandmother Marthe…Tony…Ziva…that nice Baking Nell…His face screwed up as he remembered at last that Baking Nell, aka Marthe Lindholm, was not nice; that she had done this to him…but he couldn't say how, when or why. Why? What did I do wrong? Why didn't she kill me, if she wanted me dead?
He heard a rattle of a key in a lock, and reached for the glass bottle of root beer that he'd hidden under the futon. If he could keep steady, it would be a weapon.
A light switched on, and he slammed his eyes shut, after having been in the dark for so long.
"Here he is!" he heard Baking Nell say in her pleasant, friendly voice. Curse her!
There were several gasps. "McGee! Can you get up? You're getting out of here!"
Tim recognized the voice as Agent Lawrence Reed's. I have nothing to fear from him…do I? He tried to get up, but felt pain and dizziness. "I don't know," he replied. "Maybe not."
"Ellsworth, call an ambulance," Reed directed.
"No! Not yet!" Lindholm said vehemently. "We need him as a bargaining unit against Ekerot."
"He looks like he's just two steps from the graveyard!"
"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," Lindholm said, back in control of herself. "Help me help him to his feet."
Reed and two of his people did so, reluctantly. Tim's shirt was open, torn and bloodstained. His pants were little better. He proved to be too weak to stand without support. "What happened to you, Tim?" Reed asked. "Who did this to you?"
"She—" Tim said, and his dry throat choked. Three hands offered him bottles of water.
"First Alvarez, and now McGee. You're going to have to really try hard to redeem yourself, lady," said one of the agents.
Lindholm looked at Tim disapprovingly and said to Reed and the others, "You will have to carry him up the stairs. Alas, we don't have an elevator."
"Is it absolutely necessary that we bring him?" said Reed, suspicion arising. "What can he do?"
Without answering, Lindholm started up the stairs. Her way was quickly blocked by two agents. She looked back at Reed with a coy smile, and he sighed and signaled them to go ahead. Two more agents made a chair of their hands and arms for Tim. Guns at the ready, the party slowly went up the stairs.
At the outer office to the lab, two armed women challenged them, then relaxed upon seeing Lindholm. "The doctor is in his lab, Nell," said one. "And whatever has happened to our nice Agent McGee?"
"He had a little accident; that's all, Nell," replied Lindholm, smiling benignly.
"Oh, dear! Well, can he be fixed?"
Lindholm glared at the other woman. "You were supposed to tend to him, Nell. I left him in your care."
The other Nell looked mildly surprised. "I put bandages on him, as you instructed. Was I supposed to do something else?"
Reed cleared his throat. "Ladies, put down your weapons and step aside. We have you outnumbered." He saw Lindholm nod to the two women, who then dropped their guns. Agents handcuffed them. "We're going in," said Reed.
- - - - -
Jenny paid a visit to Alvarez at his hospital, gladly submitting to the thorough ID check by his guards, while her own waited outside the room. Alvarez was happy for the visit, if dopey with the painkillers. "Ask me anything, Jenny. Though I don't know if what I say will make much sense. It seems like a fantasy story to me!"
"Do you know why Lindholm shot you?"
"No. I thought for sure she was what she said she was…a Swedish undercover agent trying to get Tim and me out of there. Is Tim okay?"
She flipped her hands. "Yes. No. That's really complicated. But about Lindholm…?"
"She said I'd find the Metro station within walking distance, in some direction. I got mad and we had words. For some reason she seemed surprised when I said I'd be calling NCIS as soon as I got to a phone. I don't fully understand that. She said Johansson—Ekerot—whoever he is—had to be allowed to finish what he was doing so she could get the goods on him. She seemed to think I'd go along with that, and leave Tim at risk!"
"Psychopathic leanings," Jenny murmured. "They sometimes produce great undercover agents, but I wouldn't have any of them working for me."
He grimaced. "I've never paid much attention to psychology. People have understood people long before Freud and his friends came on the scene. I could see, then, that Lindholm was either a little driven or a lot nutso, but I couldn't get out of the line of fire fast enough."
"Anything else that might help us?"
"Not really. I just wonder, still, why we were kidnapped in the first place. Well, now that you have Lindholm in custody, I'm sure the answers will come out."
- - - - -
Two of Reed's top agents, flanking Lindholm, lead the way into the lab. Tim walked with the group, supported by another agent.
"McGee!" Tony cried, and would have gone to him, had not a Nell shoved a gun in his face.
Tim smiled thinly but did not speak, and sat on a nearby bench. Gibbs looked questioningly at Lindholm, and then at Reed, who only shrugged.
"Nels," Lindholm nodded at the scientist.
"Ah, Nell. I'd wondered where you had gone. You know this is our crucial time. And why did you drag all of NCIS in here?"
"I had some difficulties. I had to get rid of the commander."
"Oh, so? And did you?" Johansson went on, as if no one else was in the room besides the two of them. He walked about the large room as he talked; totally at ease in his lab.
"Well enough. But it's McGee that we needed, and I should have known that all along. He's the one who can set off the device for us. He is younger than Alvarez, and should have sufficient staying power to see the mission through. Is the device ready?"
"I think so. Shall we go try it out?"
"Fine. Which site have you selected?"
"Oh, I can't make up my mind. You select one. The National Mall? The Lincoln Memorial? The Naval Historical Center? I like that one."
"Naval. It seems fitting. Let's go, then."
"Wait a minute!" cried Reed, wishing that Gibbs weren't a prisoner and could work this out for himself. Reed did not appreciate getting the Looney-Tune cases. "We are here to take you down! Have you forgotten us??"
"You can't stop us," Ekerot said, his eyes almost twinkling. "You only have firepower. We have technology on our side." He walked by Ziva, and looked down at her with a slightly lecherous smile.
She tripped him. The room went into turmoil as Ekerot fell and all of the agents rose up against the women. It reminded Tony, gleefully, of so many sci-fi 'B' movies of the 1950s. He would have to go through his DVDs tonight.
Gibbs had Ekerot in a hammerlock. "Where's the device?" he demanded. "Tell us!"
"Uh, boss…I think I have it," said Tim. He was holding a silver toy—or what looked like a toy—space ray gun, decorated with red and blue bits. It was about two feet long and looked like it might shoot water.
"McGee! Where did you get that??"
"She gave it to me. Just now," said Tim, his eyes filling with tears. "It's…it's like it's part of me, boss. I don't want to use it—I don't—but I have to. It's compelling me to. I'm sorry…"
He raised the weapon, and aimed.