The Rainbow Lake

Chapter 9

Sunny was fed up of being afraid. She was fed up of the volume of this horrible man's voice; fed up of the spittle that flew from his mouth, fed up of his opinions and the foul language he laced them with. She was fed up of the names he was calling her, that made her scalp crawl and left her feeling in need of a wash. She was sick of the things he was saying about Jamie, twisting the knife uncaringly in her grief. She'd had enough of hearing him bad-mouth the brave and kind woman he'd left crumpled on the floor in the lobby of her home…

She was fed up of the way his shouting and his driving made Lucy whimper anxiously, and the fact that all she could do was whisper to the baby in her carrying chair and rub her hand to comfort her. Taking her out of the chair and cuddling her was a non-starter, the way the truck was being driven. She was glad she was in the rear seat with Lucy, and not sitting next to Arthur Hastings, as he couldn't turn round and look at her without risking losing control of the vehicle. Not that he didn't from time to time anyway.

"There's no point in going to Jamie's apartment," she said for the fifth time, in response to his latest tirade. "I was there when NCIS took everything away. The place is empty."

"I've told you before, don't lie to me, you little…"

Sunny stopped listening. She was really fed up of being afraid, and she wasn't going to just sit here and put up with it. "All right, fine, go there, then! Please, do! It's a crime scene, it's taped off, they're watching it, and you'll get arrested!"

That silenced him for a few minutes, and she thought frantically. She was sure he wouldn't hurt his own grand-daughter, and she herself was safe, she thought, at least until the Rainbow Lake was found… maybe beyond that, since Hastings hadn't a clue how to actually deal with Lucy, so he'd have to keep her around. She bit her lip as she stroked the dozing baby's hair… she wasn't sure if she could figure how the guy thought by using normal parameters. He was a bully, and, she suspected, a coward – (when she had yelled at him that they weren't leaving Lucy with her dead mother and no-one to care for her, he'd given way at once,) and he wasn't thinking things through logically.

She didn't think Polly was dead… she prayed that Polly wasn't dead… she screwed her eyes up as she remembered how she had crashed against the wall, and how Hastings had taken two uncertain steps backwards as she fell and didn't move, ready to flee the scene rather than face what he'd done.

She could think of a dozen reasons why he wasn't going to get away with what he was threatening – from the MCRT, through Tam Black to the entire Howakhan nation – but he clearly couldn't see beyond the moment. There were bottles of beer rolling around beneath the driver's seat, clinking irritatingly, and she wondered how many of them he got through in a day. She wondered how he was ever able to run a successful business…

She stopped her mind from wandering off at a tangent; she had to work things out before he started yelling again and shot her concentration to pieces. She had to find a way to stop him before he actually found the painting and carried out his threat. He was more than twice her size, so taking him on physically wasn't an option… She wondered where the others were… Tony and the rest of his team were hunting Arthur, she knew this from Ziva's call to Polly, but did they know where to look? Where would she look? Where would Jamie have hidden it? Tears welled up in her eyes, and grief seized her heart in an iron grip as she thought of him… Parvati, goddess of valour, give me strength…

A whisper in her mind; the ghost of a thought, and then she knew, just as if her love had spoken gently in her ear.

If she realised, then surely Tam would have too… she had to believe that, because if not, she had nothing else to believe in, and she couldn't find anything to hope for.

"What the hell you crying about?"

"You killed Jamie," Sunny said through her teeth.

"I didn't kill anybody," Hastings exploded, and followed the words with a stream of profanities.

When he finished, the girl went on, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. "They've got your friends, and they're coming for you, too. You go to Jamie's studio, they'll be there. And the painting won't."

"You know where it is, you damn –"

She cut him off before he could find more names to call her. "Yes, I do." "She looked him in the eyes in the rear view mirror. "And if you want it, the first thing you've got to do is stop shooting off your mouth in front of your grand-daughter."

That provoked a laugh, and another mouthful, but this one stopped in mid flow when he actually heard what she said. "If I want it? So you're gonna tell me?"

"Lucy's getting hungry," she told him wearily. "Head west, to McLean. Old Dominion Drive." She started hunting in the baby travel bag for a pack of the emergency formula, and the battery-powered sleeve for heating it.

Lucy was beginning to fret in earnest now, and her doting grandfather began to throw impatient glances over his shoulder "Can't you do something about that?"

"Not until we get there. I can't take her out of her seat until we stop." Ten minutes later she directed him to a rutted gravel track that went uphill. Lucy protested loudly at the rough ride as the Ridgeline bounced in the potholes. Hastings slowed right down, and just for a moment, Sunny thought he was being considerate to the unhappy baby, but it turned out he was simply being cautious. As they came to the top of the hill, he switched the engine off and coasted to a halt.

Sunny lifted Lucy out of her seat, and opted for feeding her first, rather than changing her, while Hastings, without a word, got out and went to look down the hill towards the house. A few moments later he was back, cursing under his breath.

"You devious little bitch! You knew they'd be here! You brought me here because you knew…"

"Who's here?" The teenager tried to keep the grin off her face, but her heart had leapt at his words, and it took all she had to conceal her joy. She concentrated on the baby in her arms.

"NCI freaking S - I just saw two of them going into the house… you knew…"

"No, I didn't. But I'm not surprised…" His face went red, and she thought he was going to hit her, and curled herself protectively round Lucy. Hastings glared, threw himself into the driver's seat, let the hand brake off and rolled the FWD silently down the hill. Sunny wondered what he was going to do, and he stuck his finger under her nose. "You keep quiet. You keep real quiet, if you don't want me to choke the daylights out of you." He put one hand round her throat to make his point. "If you make a sound I'll take that baby and give her to my friends in Mexico, and her father'll never see her again, you got that?"

Sunny nodded soundlessly, her eyes full of tears. She didn't believe the man had friends anywhere, let alone Mexico, but she couldn't be sure he wasn't lying… he'd take little Lucy away so that Patch would never know what became of her? Surely not even he… she'd never been so afraid in her life. She hugged the feeding infant close, and fought for calm.

By the time her blurred vision had cleared, Hastings was out of the car, moving quietly, for him. The electric winch on the front of the vehicle was whirring softly as the hawser payed out. Sunny watched in horror as she realised what he was doing. He looped the cable round two of the jacks holding up the corner of the house, then hooked the end round itself in a noose. No… He was coming back to the car with a pleased look on his face…

As he reached for the winch control, and the cable began to tighten, Sunny knew she couldn't let him do it. No matter what he did to her. She pulled the feeding bottle out of Lucy's mouth, and the little girl howled in outrage. On the still morning air, it was really loud, and Hastings swore violently and leapt back into the truck. Sunny didn't hear what he called her, her head was reeling too much from the punch in the face he gave her. As she fought to stay conscious and not drop Lucy, he fired up the engine, slammed into reverse, and shot backwards so the two pillar jacks were yanked out from under the roof, and just how dependent the house had been on them became immediately clear, as the battered old hat of a roof tore itself away from the chimney and collapsed.

Arthur Hastings sat laughing like a maniac, not even noticing when the winch finished winding in, and the two jacks hit the front of his brand new Ridgeline, hard.

A moment later, the laughter stopped abruptly, as a full beer bottle rebounded off his skull.

"Bastard!" Sunny was sobbing, driven beyond endurance, as she waited to see if she had to do it again. Hastings toppled sideways out of the car and lay still. "Bastard, bastard, bastard…"

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

As the roaring, tumbling chaos died down, (it didn't actually stop, Tim was aware of residual creaks and groans like the aftershocks from an earthquake,) the young agent took stock. There was some light coming in, through mis-shapen holes in the wreckage that surrounded him – pale green light, reflected off the ravaged tarpaulin. No pain. Er, wow. Well, not much anyway… but weight. Across his arms, shoulders and chest. Heavy… he pushed tentatively, and realised that although he thought he could free himself, it was going to take time. He needed some help.

"Tony?"

There was no answer, and Tim twisted his neck, really the only part of his upper half that was free to move more than a twitch. A few feet away, in what was left of the living room, now only about four feet high, he could make out the top of his friend's head, and one outflung arm.

"Tony!" He tried louder, and more urgent. "Tony, wake up! We've got to get out of here!"

The house confirmed he was right, by giving another shudder. Tony didn't react at all, and Tim began to seriously worry. The shattered chunks of ceiling plaster, with their ghoulish pale green tinge, that surrounded Tony's head didn't look as if they could do much damage… until he reflected that until they'd hit the SFA they hadn't been shattered.

Tim's neck hurt from being twisted round for so long, and he had to turn his head back for a moment; he wished he hadn't. As if the two four-by-four beams with attached board and plaster, wedged firmly at both ends and holding him down weren't enough, there was another one hanging at an angle above his head, and every so often, it moved. Downwards. One end was already on the floor, sliding outwards whenever the wrecked house settled a bit more. This meant, Tim saw with alarm, that the gap between floor and beam was shrinking all the time – with his neck in the angle.

He struggled frantically to free his arms, but he knew he'd never do it in time before that beam came down, crushed his larynx, squashed his windpipe, and generally… killed him.

Why was he being so flip about it? Panic, McGee! No, he didn't think he was the type, and he'd never seen the man lying silent a few feet away give way to hysteria either; now wouldn't be a good time to start. He tried to wriggle his head round a little, but there was no position he could find that wouldn't have the same result. The house shifted again, and the beam dropped a little lower. A couple more shifts like that and his neck would be scissored… one more and he wouldn't have the breath to scream.

A low groan from Tony made him twist his head round again. His friend had rolled onto his back and flung an arm across his eyes.

"Tony! Tony, wake up!"

"Wha…." The Senior Field Agent rolled onto his side, and looked for all the world like he was settling down for a good sleep.

"Tony, don't! Come on, man, wake up! I need you here!" Tim kept up a continuous stream of encouragement, urgency turning to desperation in his tone. His heart was crashing; he wasn't a coward – the idea of dying on duty was something he shrugged off regularly, but this way?

Tony could hear something that was possibly a familiar sound; he wasn't sure. Something was addling his brain; thoughts were like needle points of light that twinkled then died. The sound was stronger, and persistent, it buzzed like a gnat in his ear. He supposed he had to move, and hung on to that thought. He pushed himself up onto all fours, but couldn't for the life of him lift his head, which hung between his arms. It hurt. So did his arm, a nagging, smarting, irritating sting. But he needed to hang onto the pain, because at least it meant coherent thought…

Tim watched him, calling encouragement, as the beam shifted again. It was against the side of his neck now, and the next shift would leave him suffocating, but still Tony wasn't coming round properly. Desperate measures… he let a manufactured rage into his voice.

"For freaks sake, DiNozzo! Will you stop pratting about like you've got all the time in the world? Typical you – take your time, suit yourself, hakuna ma-bloody-tata, never mind that I'm frig'n dying here! Don't you ever take anything seriously? You think this is a joke? You never –" The weight of the four-by-four against his throat was terrifying, as it cut off his voice and his breathing.

As he grew light-headed, he saw Tony's head come up. A pair of glassy green eyes blinked, then filled with horror. The SFA exploded across the gap between them in an undignified scramble on all fours, threw himself down low and wriggled under the beam at its highest point. When he'd got his shoulders underneath it, he pushed his back up again, and heard the rasp as Tim grabbed air back into his lungs. He looked sideways.

"You OK?"

"Yeah… Tony… I didn't mean…"

"I know. What the hell are we going to do now?" The beam tried to shift again, and he grunted. "Just call me Atlas… can you see anything to take my place here? Like, within reach?"

There was nothing like a hefty dose of peril to focus the mind, and he was thinking fast. The beam wasn't horribly heavy, but he sure couldn't stay here for ever. Trouble was, if he left McGee got it in the neck, literally.

"The coffee table," Tim rasped. "It's just behind you, to the left. No… just beyond your arm… you might hook your foot round… bit further…"

Tony almost sobbed with relief as he felt the table begin to drag behind him. A moment later his hand found it, and he pulled it alongside himself. He pushed his back up a little more, turned the table on its side, and lowered himself down until it took the weight of the beam instead of him. Letting out a groan, he curled up into a ball for a moment, wrapping his arms round his head, and Tim said anxiously, "Tony…"

"It's OK." Bent double in the four feet of space, he climbed over the beam and knelt alongside the debris pinning Tim down. "If I lift can you wriggle?"

"Should think so… but it feels pretty solid."

"K… if you need me to stop, say."

He lay on his back and began to kick the debris with both feet, and Tim suppressed a yelp as it dragged across his lower ribs, before a chunk suddenly fell away, and the weight on him was halved. "I got it, Tony… I can move. I'm free… Tony, you can stop now… Tony, STOP!"

That got through. DiNozzo's frantic kicks ceased, and he lay on his back, chest heaving. He saw Tim looming over him in the green gloom.

"You OK, McWoody?"

"I'm not the one who's on my back." He rubbed his neck. "Gonna have a helluva bruise… few more on my ribs… don't feel too bad for a dead guy, though. You?"

Tony looked at his right forearm with distaste. "I picked up some splinters," he said, trying to use his left hand delicately enough to pull them out.

"Let me do it," Tim said "I reckon I can see better than you just now anyway." He grasped his friend's arm gently, and picked out a few toothpick-sized chips. "Tony… you know… I really didn't mean it –"

"We just had this conversation. I didn't know you knew some of those words, McClean… and yeah, I know. We need to get out of here, Tim… need to find out what happened. I could swear I heard Lucy crying…"

"Yeah, I heard too. Guess we'd better move… d'you need help to sit up?"

He reached down to put his hands under Tony's shoulders, but the older man said, "No, wait…"

Tim followed his friend's peering glance in the dim light, and saw that he was looking at the bottom of the coffee table. His eyes widened, and as Tony tried to lurch forward again, he said, "No, I'll do it," sharply enough to make the SFA stay where he was. He got his shoulder under the beam that had nearly killed him, and hooked the table from under it, much as Tony had done in reverse, and dragged it back to his friend.

"Good spot," he said wonderingly.

Tony grinned lopsidedly. "Two days ago neither of us had ever heard of glassine paper," he said. "Let alone wondered what it's doing underneath a coffee table."

As Tim gently lifted the flat rectangle in its grease and water resistant paper wrapping from where it had been taped under the table, he said softly, "Would you still have used the table if you'd known this was under it?"

"What… risked a million dollar painting to save your neck, McGee?" Tony's smile was peaceful. "Every time."

AN: One more to go… 'scuse typos… I'm going gozzeyed as they say where I come from.