Chapter 27 – Answers
Timothy McGee
Tim opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. Not that opening his eyes helped. He couldn't see a thing through the thick fog.
He shivered slightly in the damp air. It was the kind of fog that clung to everything and made you feel like something terrible was about to happen. He wanted to get away but he couldn't see more than a few feet. And without being able to see anything, he was afraid to move. He didn't want to step off a ledge or into traffic or into the water…
Water?
Now that he thought about it, he could hear the gentle sound of water lapping against some hard surface. And he could smell the fishy and slightly salty tang of brackish water. Then he heard a bell attached to a buoy as it gently rocked in the currents.
So, he was near the water.
As he continued to look around, it grew lighter and the fog began to lift. After a few minutes, he could see the wooden dock beneath his feet.
"Tim," a voice called.
Looking down the dock, he saw a hulking ship appear out of the fog. He could just see the name 'Utah' on the bow. As the fog continued to lift, he saw a man in an officer's uniform. A captain to be specific.
"Tim," the officer called.
Walking towards the man, he realized that the Captain was his father. He unconsciously stood up straighter and looked down at his suit to make sure he was presentable.
"What are you doing here Tim?" his father asked.
"I came to see you," he said without thinking. "You're deploying."
"You should be studying," his father reproachfully. "You have your exams. You need to do well if you want to be accepted at that college you've been talking about."
"This is more important," he insisted. "You're being deployed and it's going to be dangerous."
His father laughed, brushing off his concerns. "I'll be fine. This little skirmish is nothing."
"I just heard more merchant ships have been sunk by German U-boats," he said skeptically. "Aren't you being deployed to protect merchant ships?"
"And that's why things will work out," his father insisted. "You're looking at one of the Navy's finest ships." He nodded. The USS Utah was a dreadnaught battleship and it was an impressive ship. "And when you've finished your schooling, you'll be old enough to join the navy and see for yourself."
He frowned.
"We've been over this before, Dad," he said.
"And you're making a mistake Tim," his father countered before he could finish. "The navy makes a fine career."
"I know," he replied hastily. "But I don't think it's for me. There's a lot of new technology that I want to learn. I've been reading up on electrical engineering and how it can be used in communications. There's been some really interesting things on circuits…"
"Research," his father scoffed. "You should do something practical with your life. Not spend your life with your nose in a book." He bit back a retort. They were standing by a modern warship that was the product of people who spent their lives with their noses in books. "The navy provides for a good life that has meaning. It did me and your grandfather well."
"You just want me to be like you," he replied before he could stop himself.
"You could only hope to do so well," his father retorted. "Your grandfather was an Admiral and I've just been informed that I'm up for promotion as well."
"Congratulations," he said half-heartedly.
"You shouldn't sound so ungrateful, boy," his father said sternly. "This navy put a roof over your head and three squares on the table."
He shivered in the cold. The fog was returning along with the damp air.
"At what cost?" he asked. "You've been gone so much."
"It's an honor to serve our country," his father countered.
"I didn't say it wasn't," he said hastily as he wrapped his arms around his waist. "Aren't you cold?"
"What? Can't take a little cool weather, boy?" his father asked.
"Not without a coat," he muttered.
"Hot soup!" a voice called from the fog. "Get your hot soup here!"
"Soup," he said to himself as he looked off into the fog. He wondered where the soup seller was. "That sounds good." He turned and started to walk down the dock.
"Don't you walk away," his father said sternly. He turned back to his father. "I'm not finished talking with you yet."
"What do you want from me, dad?" he asked. "I've already told you. I don't want to join the navy."
"What are you going to do then? Be some professor in an ivy tower?" his father demanded. "Or maybe a common criminal." He winced. "Work for a bootlegger who flaunts the law."
"Don't tell me you haven't had a drop to drink since the amendment passed," he said reproachfully. "I've seen the bottles you've brought back with you from the Caribbean."
His father's expression grew hard but he didn't respond. He knew his father couldn't deny it. His father didn't over-indulge by any means but he did find it hypocritical that his father criticized bootleggers when he was technically bootlegging liquor back into the country after their training cruises to the Caribbean.
"Hot soup! Get your hot soup here!" the voice called enticingly.
"Look dad, you're going to have to understand," he said. "I need to make my own way in the world. The navy has been good to our family. But it isn't for me. I don't know where that will take me but I know I want to do something that will help people." His father frowned. "And I'm going to get some soup. Would you like to join me?"
"You walk away, you don't come back," his father warned.
He looked at his old man and made up his mind. Steeling himself, he walked away into the fog. He reached the man selling soup at a cart but strangely he couldn't see his face. It was hidden by a flat cap pulled low.
"Why don't you eat a little of this?" the man asked. "You need to keep your strength up."
"Sure," he said as he accepted the cup. He took a sip but almost immediately spit most of it out. "It's too hot," he said as soup dribbled down his chin.
"What was that, Tim?" the man asked. He blinked. He still couldn't see the man's face but his voice sounded familiar. "I didn't hear that. Say again."
"Too hot," Tim murmured.
Suddenly the dock and soup man were gone. He was lying on a bed and he ached all over. He wanted to open his eyes but even that tiny effort felt impossible to achieve.
"Come on, Tim," the familiar voice said. "Fight. You can do this."'
He tipped his head towards the voice but he couldn't make his eyes open.
Someone grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly but he could feel himself slipping back into the fog. The dock had already reappeared and he could see his father looking at him disapprovingly.
Suddenly he felt a light but firm tap on the back of his head.
Jolting, he took a deep breath. It hurt like hell but that further drew him into alertness.
Forcing his eyes open, he saw Gibbs staring at him intently.
"That's it, Tim," Gibbs said firmly but gently. "Wake up."
Blinking a few times, he looked around in confusion. Gibbs was sitting by his bedside and had put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing firmly.
"Tim," Gibbs said in relief.
"Hey Gibbs," Tim said, his voice cracking. He licked his lips. He felt like he had been standing in the market in Tunis all day without a canteen. "Water?" Gibbs grabbed a glass of water and helped him to drink. "Thanks."
"You had us all worried," Gibbs said softly as he set the glass aside. "How do you feel?"
"Sore all over. Like I was hit by a car," Tim said wincing. His torso felt like it was on fire and he could barely move his leg. "Was I?" Tim asked.
Gibbs shook his head but laughed lightly. He looked at his boss in confusion. Gibbs didn't seem to want to let him in on the joke. "You were shot. Twice. Once in the side and once in the leg."
"Oh," he said. "So why can't I feel my arm?" He glanced down and saw that Abby was attached to it. "Oh." Tim smiled softly at her. She was seated on a makeshift pallet on the floor but was sleeping with her head on the bed and his arm firmly in her grasp. Apparently, she had put his arm to sleep.
Gibbs smiled which was odd. He didn't get to see his boss smile all that often.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Gibbs said.
"I was dead?" he asked as he sniffed. The smell of the broth was making him hungry.
"Very nearly," Gibbs replied as he picked up the cup of broth. He held it out and helped him to drink. At first, he thought it was weird that his boss was feeding him but once the warm, rich liquid hit his mouth, he didn't care. It might be simple chicken broth, but it tasted like a gourmet meal to him. "It's been a rough few weeks."
Jolting, he almost spat the broth out. He swallowed hard and winced in pain from his injuries.
"Weeks?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah," Gibbs said with a half-smile. "Two weeks to be exact." He stared at Gibbs in shock. "We didn't find you here for two days," Gibbs explained. "By then you had lost so much blood and an infection had set it." Gibbs swallowed and looked him in the eye. "Won't lie. I thought I had lost you a few times but you kept fighting." He looked at Gibbs in surprise. His boss hadn't tried to hide his affection. "Made me damn proud of you," Gibbs said. "You never gave up."
"What happened?" he asked wondering how he had ended up shot.
Gibbs looked at him. "You don't remember?"
He closed his eyes and thought back. The memory of speaking to his father on the docks was the strongest. Although, now that he thought about it, he realized that it was probably a dream and not a memory. He twitched as flashes of a horrifying scene passed before his eyes. What he thought was a dream was probably the truth. Although his memory was fragmented and he wasn't sure what order things had happened or if all of it had even happened.
"I'm not sure." Tim took a deep breath. "Feels like a dream… or a nightmare. I'm not sure what is real. Do you know what happened to me?"
"No. We know that Napolitano called you to his apartment. You called Tony but before he could arrive, the building was on fire," he said. "And Ducky pulled three bodies out the next day. One had your weapon at hand and the other had your knife in his chest."
He shuddered as he recalled using the knife. He didn't know who he had stabbed but he had stabbed someone.
"Two of which could have been you," Gibbs continued, watching him intently. "We thought you were dead until we found you here. Even then we weren't sure you'd live. We've taken turns keeping watch over you but Abby has been by your side more often than not."
Tim looked fondly at Abby. He brought his free hand up and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.
Abby began to stir at his touch and slowly she opened her eyes. She blinked and looked up at him. "Tim! You're awake!"
"Apparently," he said with a smile.
Tears pricked at her eyes. "I thought I'd lost you."
"Sorry," he replied contritely. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Suddenly Abby was kissing him. And even though his torso hurt with the effort, he wasn't about to break off the kiss.
After they separated, he said, "Well that's not such a bad way to wake up." He felt flushed and warm all over. Abby smacked him lightly on the arm, but she was smiling even as tears slipped down her cheeks.
Gibbs stood and walked over to the door, jerking it open. He could just see through the door that two military cots were set up in the living room. Tony was lying on one of the them but he leapt to his feet at Gibbs' appearance.
"Grab Duck," Gibbs said as he returned to the bedroom.
A moment later, Ducky entered the room, rubbing his eyes before he replaced his glasses. Tony followed him inside and grinned at the sight of him awake.
"Good morning, Timothy," Ducky said pleased. "I'm glad to see you awake."
"I guess I should be happy that I am awake," he said as Ducky started to check his vitals.
"I should say so. You lost quite a bit of blood," Ducky said as he took his pulse. "But you were lucky that the gunshot was a through and through and the other missed the arteries in your leg."
"I'm not sure I feel lucky," he said as he winced while Ducky checked the bandage on his side. The tape was pulling painfully. "Easy Ducky."
"I am sorry Timothy," Ducky said contritely. "I did not want to give you any sort of pain medication until you were awake."
"You can get him something though?" Tony asked concerned by his partner's pain.
"Yes," Ducky replied. "I have morphine but I will want to strictly control the dosage. I am concerned by its addictive properties. There are some that believe the so called 'soldier's disease' is a farce."
"But you don't," Gibbs said.
"No," Ducky replied as he finished checking his side and moved to check the bandage on his leg. "I believe that they suffer from acute Morphine addiction. And I would like to prevent Timothy from suffering from that malady."
"Yeah," he replied as he released a breath as Ducky finished. "Me too."
"You seem to be healing nicely," Ducky said with a pleased smile. "And your fever seems to have finally broken for good." He looked at Ducky questioningly. "You had a high fever for five days after we found you."
"We thought you'd wake up after that broke," Abby said.
"It was at least enough to try a transfusion," Ducky said. "To replace the blood you lost. I'm not sure if you had a bad reaction to it or if you hadn't fully recovered from the fever. Either way, a fever is one of the known side-effects of receiving a blood transfusion…"
"Where'd you get the blood?" he interrupted, the curiosity getting the best of him.
"Jimmy," Tony said. "You and the autopsy gremlin share the same blood type," Tony replied.
"Tony wanted to give you some of his blood but you're not the same type," Abby said. "None of us were. Thankfully Jimmy shares your blood type."
"Jimmy was happy to help," Ducky said. "He said it was his way of repaying you for twice saving his life."
"I'd like to thank him for that," he said.
"We'll be sure to bring him by soon," Ducky said with a nod. "He's currently at work, covering for my absence. Once I'm sure Timothy is on the upswing, I will have to join him. We have two more guests at the Mallard Inn."
"Mallard Inn?" he asked in confusion. "I didn't know you ran an inn."
Ducky smiled benevolently at him. "I mean, I have two more bodies waiting for me at the coroner's office. On top of the others and your care, it has been a busy few weeks."
"Others?" he asked.
"Napolitano's death sparked something of a civil war," Gibbs replied. "Between Little Ricky and Napolitano's lieutenants, they're fighting for control of the organization."
"And the Frog is trying to take advantage of the chaos to seize more of Napolitano's network for himself," Tony added.
Gibbs looked at him and he knew what Gibbs was going to ask even without speaking.
He closed his eyes and tried to block out the memories that were slowly coming back to him. As he recalled more, the more he wished that hadn't.
"The details are kinda fuzzy, Gibbs," Tim protested. He didn't really want to relive what had happened.
"We need to know Tim," Gibbs said firmly but gently. "Start at the beginning," Gibbs said. "Take it slow."
"All right," he said reluctantly. He took a deep breath and winced as the pain lanced through his torso. When it passed, he thought back to what had happened. "I guess I lost track of time when I was working," Tim said hesitantly. "With Napolitano gone from the office, things were quiet and I got engrossed in the paperwork. Jim Kidwell came into my office and told me that Jimmy wanted to see me and that I should bring the paperwork that I had completed to transfer his funds out of the country. Tony told me where he was going for dinner so I called the restaurant and left a message."
"I got the message," Tony said, smiling ruefully. "I left Ziva sitting at our table. Luckily she forgave me when she found out what happened."
Tim smiled crookedly. "Sorry Tony. I didn't want to ruin your date."
"Well you got the raw end of the night, McGee," Tony replied with a shrug. "Besides, things went south on their own when she told me she knew."
"Knew what?" he asked momentarily distracted.
"She knew," Tony replied meaningfully. Tim's eyes widened in surprise.
"She knows? How?" Tim asked. Tim looked from Tony to him in concern. "And what's she going to do?"
"I'm not sure how much it matters now," Tony replied and he nodded. "This thing is going to be over shortly anyway."
"Excuse me," Ducky said curtly. "I seem to be the only one who doesn't know what you are talking about. Would you care to let me in on the secret?"
Tony looked at Gibbs who shrugged. They knew the doctor well enough to know that he could be trusted with their secret, which likely wasn't going to be a secret much longer. Now that Napolitano was dead, they would likely be done with their undercover operation in short order.
"Oh uh," Tony said. "We're not exactly who we say we are, Ducky." Ducky looked confused. "Well we are who we say we are. It's more of: we aren't what we say we are. We've been undercover for the last two years trying to take down Napolitano's organization."
Ducky's eyes widened in surprise. "You are with the Bureau of Prohibition?"
"No," he said wryly.
"Bureau of Investigation then," Ducky said.
Tony scowled.
"Office of Naval Intelligence," he said.
"Naval Intelligence?" Ducky asked incredulously. "Why on earth would Naval Intelligence be investigating a mobster?"
"ONI doesn't have any reason," Tony replied. "Our team specializes in infiltration and espionage."
"Spies?" Ducky asked.
Tim nodded. "We were specifically tasked with acquiring information on new foreign naval technology, deciphering it and sending plans home."
"So how did you get from acquiring foreign naval technology to infiltrating a mob?" Ducky asked.
"We're doing Hoover a favor," Tony replied. "The BOIs figured that they had a mole. Someone was slipping Napolitano information and they couldn't trust anyone within the Bureau or Prohibition Unit. Since they couldn't trust themselves they went to another organization."
"He needed a team that was unknown in Washington," Tim added. "We had been in Europe for the last five years before we started this assignment."
"Well I'd say that you succeeded. I never suspected a thing!" Ducky said. "You too Abby?"
Abby blinked in surprise and then laughed. "Uh no. I am exactly who I say I am. Speakeasy manager extraordinaire. But I have known what they were since Palmer was shot." She squeezed Tim's hand.
"Our intention was to find the mole and arrest James Napolitano but dead works too," Tony finished.
And that brought them back to topic. While he had hoped that they would move on from asking him what happened, he knew they wouldn't.
"What happened after you got to Jimmy's apartment?" Gibbs asked.
He closed his eyes and started talking. Once he began, the memories began to align and fit together and he spoke faster and faster…
The drive to Napolitano's apartment wasn't that long but his apprehensions made it feel longer. Jim didn't speak and he didn't initiate a conversation. He didn't know Jim all that well, which made him wary about small talk. He didn't want to risk saying something that might make the man suspicious.
When they had arrived, Jim took him around the back of the building and paused at a low brick wall. He watched with interest as Jim looked around before pulling a brick out of the wall. Once in hand, he could see that the brick had been hollowed out and a small key had been hidden within. After replacing the brick, he followed Jim to a rear door, which he opened with the key.
They hurried up the stairs to the top floor where the door was propped open with a wedge. He entered the hall and Jim carefully closed the door so that the wedge kept the door from locking. Considering that Jim had locked the stairwell door on the ground floor, he found this behavior strange but he didn't have time to ask. Jim was already knocking on Napolitano's door.
To his surprise, Jimmy answered the door himself.
"Timothy. Good. Come in. Come in," Jimmy said. "I sent the help home. Throw your coat there. We have a lot of work to do."
He nodded and hurried to follow Jimmy. "Mr. Kidwell. You keep watch on the door. I'm expecting someone. Let him in when he arrives."
"Yes, Mr. Napolitano," Kidwell said as he took a seat in the living area.
He followed Jimmy into his study and looked around. Papers were scattered around the room and a half empty bottle of whiskey was on the desk. The room was dimly lit by just the desk lamp and a small fire in the fireplace.
After he shut the door, he examined Jimmy closely. He was disheveled and smelled heavily of whiskey. His eyes were dilated, he was slurring and he wasn't exactly steady on his feet. In short, Jimmy was practically embalmed.
"What's going on Jimmy?"
"Too much! I've got to get out of town tonight," Jimmy said. "The Feds are coming for me."
Genuinely surprised, he asked, "The Feds are coming for you?" He hadn't heard anything about that and he had spoken with Gibbs last night. Their plan to take down Napolitano's network piece by piece was progressing but they had no plans to move on Jimmy until they learned the identity of the mole or unless Jimmy planned to skip town. "How do you know that?"
"I have a source," Jimmy said as he refilled his whiskey glass. Jimmy held up the bottle questioningly but he shook his head as he set his briefcase down. He knew that tonight of all nights was not the night to dull his senses. Jimmy took a long drink before he continued. "My source tells me that the Feds are going to arrest me. He's just about as high up in the Bureau as you can get so I know he isn't lying to me."
"Oh," he said evenly, even as his heartrate increased. He hoped a calm voice could inject a voice of reason into Jimmy. At the same time, he was going to meet Napolitano's mole. They could find out who had been protecting Jimmy after all this time.
"Can you trust this source if he's so high up in the Bureau?" he asked. "Perhaps he's the one who's been playing you all this time. Maybe he's the one that has been slipping information to the Bureau."
"I considered it, Tim. Believe me, I did," Jimmy said seriously. "Especially after all the hits we've taken these last few months," Jimmy said, slurring slightly. "That's why he's going to come here tonight to deliver the proof."
"Proof that the Bureau is going to arrest you?" he asked.
Jimmy nodded. "But before that, I want to make sure that I'm able to get away, which is why you're here," Jimmy said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Right," he replied. He picked up his briefcase and took a seat at Jimmy's desk.
"I know I can trust you, my boy," Jimmy said as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've always been true to me. That means a lot." Jimmy squeezed his shoulder.
He looked up at Jimmy and not for the first time, wondered what Jimmy would think if he knew that he was a Fed trying to take him down. Although, now that he thought about it, if he met the mole tonight, Jimmy would soon learn the truth.
"And I know you've been working diligently to transfer my money to Cuba," Jimmy finished.
"Yes," he said as he pulled out the paperwork. For a moment, he wondered if what he had planned would work. He had hoped for more time to refine his plan but that wasn't going to be the case. He glanced at Jimmy. His eyes were glassy. If this was going to work, tonight would be the night.
"You said yesterday that my funds were ready to be transferred," Jimmy said.
"Yes," he replied as he shuffled the papers and put them into a better order. "There are still numerous assets that need to be liquidated," he said.
"I know, I know," Jimmy said waving him off. "We'll deal with that after I have left the country. I trust you to look after things with me out of town Tim. I've already told my trusted associates that they should take orders from you as if they were coming from me."
He nodded to gain some time. Even though he had technically been in charge over Christmas, the thought that Jimmy's lieutenants were supposed to take orders from him still made him nervous. If Jimmy fled the country, he seriously doubted that they would be too inclined to obey him. He'd bet that they would be more likely to try to bump him off to take control for themselves.
"Very well. But I'll need some time to coordinate that effort. Do you know when you'll be leaving?" he asked.
Jimmy shook his head. "No idea. Could be immediately if my source isn't pulling my leg. Or if he's full of baloney, then it'll be a while yet. Either way, I'd like to be prepared just in case." He nodded in concession. "What do I gotta do to make sure my money makes it to Cuba?"
"It's very simple. I just need your signature on these documents and once I deliver them to the bank, they'll send a wire to the Bank of Nova Scotia to complete the transfer of your money. It might even get to Cuba faster than you," he said as he stood.
He offered the chair to Jimmy, who sat. He handed him a pen and pointed to the locations where Jimmy needed to sign. Whether he was too soused to think about it or too trusting, Jimmy never paused to read what he was signing. When they were through with the stack, he said, "Of course, there will be more paperwork for you to sign to transfer the remainder of your assets."
"Of course," Jimmy said as he swallowed the remainder of his drink. "But that can be done when I'm in Cuba, right?"
"I'll have to deliver the paperwork for your signature, but yes," he replied.
Jimmy chuckled. "A good excuse for a tropical vacation, huh?"
"That part doesn't hurt," he conceded.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. They looked up and saw Jim Kidwell.
"Your guest is here, Mr. Napolitano," Kidwell said.
"Show him in," Jimmy said as he stood.
He looked up as a man dressed in a long brown overcoat entered the office. He was surprised to see who it was.
"Your mole is Bureau of Investigation Agent John Charles?" he asked, looking at Jimmy incredulously. John Charles was the agent in charge of the Napolitano investigation. For the last three years he had been trying to arrest Napolitano. And now he knew why Agent Charles had failed. "When you said he was high up, I didn't think he'd be that high up, Jimmy."
"John," Napolitano said ignoring him. "You brought it?"
"Of course, I did," Agent Charles said as he looked at him cautiously. "Who is this?"
"I forgot that you've never met each other," Jimmy said. "This is Mr. Gemcity, my accountant. Thom, you know Agent John Charles."
He carefully kept his expression neutral. Thankfully, even in his embalmed state, Jimmy had the sense to use his cover name. Chances were that Charles wouldn't be able connect him, Timothy McGee, a relatively low ranked ONI agent, to the investigation into Napolitano's network. But it was better if that wasn't even an option.
That was assuming that Charles knew about the investigation. As far as he knew, only the Secretary of the Navy, Tom Morrow and Hoover knew about their mission. He didn't even think that the current head of ONI, Captain Hayne Ellis, knew about their mission, which had been arranged by the Secretary of the Navy. Tom Morrow had only been involved so as to suggest their team and act as a liaison between them and Hoover.
"Yes, Mr. Napolitano, I know Agent John Charles. He's running the Bureau's investigation into your operation. We've cursed his name often enough after a raid," he said. "And toasted his failures when he didn't find anything incriminating against you. Knowing that he's your source certainly explains how you've avoided trouble for so long."
"It helps doesn't it," Jimmy said clearly pleased with himself.
"Although not as much recently," he said suspiciously.
They hadn't worked with anyone directly at the Bureau because they didn't know who the mole was. Instead they had worked with Tom Morrow. They had allowed Morrow to slip the information to the Bureau or Prohibition Unit in any way he saw fit. It should have insulated them from anyone in either agency but he still knew it was best to be cautious.
Charles frowned. "Someone has been interfering with my investigation, Jimmy," Charles said. "I told you that. Tips have been coming into the Bureau as a whole. If I ignored them, I'd have been canned and you'd been in worse shape."
"I'm not sure of that," he muttered. Charles wasn't wrong but it didn't hurt to plant a seed of doubt in Jimmy's mind.
Charles examined him thoroughly as if sizing him up. "Do you trust Mr. Gemcity, Jimmy?"
"Of course I do. If I didn't, he wouldn't be here," Jimmy said sharply. "Thom has put together all the paperwork I need to get out of the country. Once I see your proof, then I'll pay you your final installment and you can be off."
Charles pulled off his coat and draped it over the nearest sofa. Then he reached into his suit pocket. "This is the warrant for your arrest, Jimmy," he said.
Jimmy stood up took the paper and hurried over to the fireplace so he could read the paper by the flickering light. "When was this signed?" Jimmy demanded.
"Just this afternoon," Charles replied. He watched Charles cautiously. As corrupt as Charles was for working with Napolitano all this time, he wasn't about to trust Charles as far as he could throw him. "Some of my colleagues saw that you were on the ropes and decided to take advantage of the situation. They thought that they had enough to take you down. I tried to convince them otherwise."
"But clearly, you were unsuccessful," Jimmy retorted. Charles nodded. "When?"
"I picked up the warrant this afternoon," Charles said. "If all goes to plan, they'll come for you in the morning and seize the records in your office."
"I'll be damned if I go with the Feds. If this is real, I'm leaving town before they can take me," Jimmy said as he held out the warrant for him to inspect it. He joined Jimmy by the fireplace and took the paper. He examined it and to his surprise he found it to be the real thing.
"It's real, Jimmy," he said causing Jimmy to frown.
"I was afraid you were going to say that," Jimmy said. "This accelerates my plans to leave the country."
"And leave everything behind?" Charles asked. "The Bureau will seize your assets Jimmy. Wherever you go, you'll be a poor man."
"Of course I won't be," Napolitano retorted. "I'm taking it with me. Gemcity prepared the paperwork. I just signed it. My money will be in Havana waiting for me."
"Really? Well you better be sure that this paperwork is in order," Charles said as he rounded the desk. Agent Charles glanced at the top paper which detailed the transfer of Jimmy's bank accounts. He noticed John's eyes widen just slightly as he caught sight of the bottom line. "Does your man know what he's doing?"
"Of course I do," he said defensively.
"So, all that money is in Cuba?" he asked.
"It will be as soon as that paperwork is handed over to the banks," he said.
"That's just what I wanted to hear," Charles said as he drew a revolver.
Napolitano blinked in drunken surprise as he tried to make sense of what was happening.
But he didn't move. He mentally ran through his options. Charles probably didn't know he was armed. And there was no guarantee that this would end up with shots fired. It seemed to him that Charles intended to skip town with the paperwork. Too bad it wouldn't do him any good. He had set things up so that only he or Napolitano could access the accounts.
He started to look for an escape route just in case. He was close to the sofa, which could give him a measure of cover if he needed it although he doubted the sofa would do much to stop a bullet.
"Charles. What are you doing?" Napolitano asked.
"Taking my last payment, Naps," Charles said as he approached Jimmy menacingly. "I've risked too much for the paltry amount you've paid me over the years so I'm taking what's due to me."
He tensed and tried to subtly put his hand closer to his pistol. He was getting a bad feeling that Charles wasn't just going to take the paperwork and leave.
"You'd steal what I worked so hard for?" Napolitano asked angrily.
"Is it really stealing if I take money from a crook, Jimmy?" Charles asked.
"You're damn right it is!" Jimmy shouted.
Suddenly Jimmy lurched forward. He took the opportunity to take cover and ducked behind the sofa as the two grappled. When he heard a gunshot, he poked his head over the edge of the couch. Jimmy had forced Charles' gun upward and plaster showered down around their heads as they struggled for the gun. Jimmy had strength born of liquor but that was waning quickly.
Charles managed to throw Jimmy off, just as Jim Kidwell burst into the room. As he watched from behind the sofa, several things happened at once. Jimmy tripped and fell into the fireplace, letting out a terrible scream as his clothing caught fire. Jim Kidwell fired his weapon at Charles but perhaps because he was distracted by Napolitano, he missed. Charles was not so distracted and his shot hit Kidwell square in the chest, felling him.
He drew his pistol and took a moment to plan his strategy before he stood up from behind the sofa. He paused, realizing he still had the warrant in his hand. He quickly rolled it and stuffed it into his holster before he tried to figure out what he ought to do next.
But terrible screams forced him to break his cover. Peering over the sofa, he saw that Jimmy had managed to pull himself out of fire and now he was flailing around, trying to put out the flames. But the more he flailed, the more he fanned the flames.
He grimaced until Charles fired again, putting several slugs into Jimmy, effectively putting him out of his misery. Jimmy fell backwards onto the other sofa. Charles used a quilt to beat out the flames and then tossed it to the side.
"Come out Mr. Gemcity," Charles said. "I have no reason to hurt you."
"You're kidding, right?" he asked as he tried to gauge the other man's location. "You've just killed two men, including my employer. Why should I trust you?"
"Because I need you as much as you need me. You need me to keep your identity secret from the Bureau and I need you to find the rest of Napolitano's assets. Work with me and we'll share his riches," Charles replied.
From what he could guess, Charles was standing near the desk. He had to make a break for the door and get out of here but there was too much open space to get away cleanly.
Suddenly Charles fired several shots. Tim grunted as he felt one of the bullets strike his left side and another lodge in his thigh. He was knocked to the ground and winced as pain lanced through his body. But he knew he couldn't stay put. If he hoped to get out of this alive, he needed to go on the offensive.
Despite the pain, he stood up and fired several shots at Charles. One struck Charles in his shoulder. Charles shouted in pain and tried to fire again but he was out of bullets. Tim struggled to stay upright, pressing his free hand to his side.
He sucked in a deep breath and coughed as he gagged on the smoke-filled air. He looked around and saw to his alarm that the carpet was on fire. The quilt Charles had used to put out the flames from Jimmy's clothes had caught fire. And it was spreading quickly. The room would be engulfed soon and he knew he had to get out quickly or risk becoming trapped.
He started to limp towards the door but Charles tackled him. Taken by surprise, he grunted as he struck the ground. His gun flew from his hand and skittering off towards the door. Charles tried to smack his head off the ground but he managed to wiggle out of his grasp and kick Charles off him.
But Charles was quick to recover. Charles dived towards him and landed a blow on his injured side. He screamed as pain roared through his abdomen but years of training under Gibbs kept him from losing his head. He dislodged Charles again, sending him flying across the room.
He rolled away and managed to lurch to his feet, heavily favoring his good leg. Charles had managed to get to his feet, so he sized him up. His right arm hung limply and his face was filled with pain. Fortunately, Charles didn't seem to have a weapon. But he did and he had a good feeling that Charles didn't know about it.
"You could have just taken the paperwork, Charles," he said as he waited for Charles to inch closer. He would only have one shot at this. He couldn't afford to lose his advantage right now. "You didn't need to kill Jimmy," he said wincing as he put weight on his injured leg. The bullet was lodged in the muscle mass and burned like a hot poker. He didn't think it was a serious injury but it was hampering his mobility.
"No, but he forced me to kill him," Charles said as he inched closer to him. "And now I need to take care of you. I was hoping you'd help me but for now I'll just have to settle for the assets you've acquired. I'm sure I'll find the rest during my investigation."
He slid his left hand around his back and grasped the hilt of his knife that he kept hidden at the small of his back. He flicked it open and waited.
Suddenly, Charles lurched at him. At the same time, he lunged forward and slipped in under Charles' guard.
Charles cried out as the blade slid through his ribs just under his armpit. He staggered backwards and looked down at the knife that had pierced his lung. Charles looked up at him before he sat down heavily on the floor. He gasped for breath and looked at Tim like a landed fish.
Blinking, he coughed as the smoke grew so thick that it was becoming hard to breathe. The fire had spread to one of the sofas and the heavy curtains. He stumbled across the room and grabbed the paperwork. He hastily thrust it into his briefcase and snapped the lid shut. Then he stumbled towards the door, checking on Jim Kidwell as he reached the man. He didn't have to feel for a pulse to know that the man was dead or soon would be. The large pool of blood told him that he wouldn't survive his wounds.
Coughing again, he plucked the gun out of Jim's hands and tucked it into his holster. His weapon was lost and he didn't have time to search for it and he needed a way to protect himself. Stumbling, he hurried to the apartment door, coughing as he burst through the smoky room.
He coughed and stumbled into hallway, still clutching his side and the briefcase. He heard shouts of alarm as neighbors pounded on doors to alert each other to the fire. Without thinking, he followed a nightgown clad woman into the stairwell and prayed that he wouldn't pass out before he managed to escape the building.
"I'm not sure how I got back here though," he said as he opened his eyes. Everyone was staring at him in shock. "The last thing I remember was leaving the building."
"You're telling us that James Napolitano's mole in the Bureau was John Charles?" Tony asked when no one else could seemingly speak.
"Yeah," he replied.
"Bureau of Investigation Agent John Charles?" Ducky asked again. "I find that hard to believe! I know the man. He didn't care for the Temperance movement but he was a sworn lawman!"
"How do you know him Duck?" Gibbs asked.
"I've had the unfortunate pleasure to autopsy one of his colleagues, Victor Gera," Ducky replied. "Agent Charles came in personally to confirm the man's identity."
"Victor Gera?" Tony asked. "That name isn't familiar."
"You might know him better as Guido Valentino," Tim said.
"Valentino?" Tony asked. "Yeah, that name I know. Was this about two months ago?" Ducky nodded. "That explains a lot."
"Who was he?" Abby asked confused.
"He was in Napolitano's numbers business," Tony replied.
"That's an understatement," Gibbs said.
"What's that mean?" Abby asked.
"He was running one of Jimmy's best gambling parlors," Tim replied. "And then one day he wasn't." Abby shook her head. "He got the axe."
"Literally," Ducky said darkly. "He was killed with an axe to the back."
"Jimmy told me he was a law enforcement mole and had him taken care of," Tim replied. Abby stared at him. "He told me after Gera was killed that he was cop. When I asked how he knew, Jimmy just said that he had an ironclad source. I didn't dare push for more information at the time."
"His ironclad source was Charles," Gibbs said. Tim nodded.
"I can't believe it," Ducky said incredulously. "He's been pursuing Napolitano for as long as I can remember. He wouldn't be on Napolitano's payroll. He's a good man. And he certainly wouldn't turn one of his agents over to Napolitano for death."
"Evidently, he did," Gibbs said.
"I can assure you that it was him, Ducky," Tim said. He shifted slightly in bed and winced as he jarred his injuries. "I saw him with my own eyes. He's the one that shot me and I stabbed him in the chest."
Tony crossed his arms. "But John Charles wasn't in the books."
"Napolitano must have a private set of books," Gibbs replied.
Tim nodded. "I suspected that for a while. I just don't know where he keeps them. My guess would be somewhere in his apartment."
"Then maybe they've been cooked," Tony said with a silly grin. Gibbs frowned at the joke. "What?"
"I still have a hard time believing that John Charles was working for James Napolitano. You are sure he wasn't there to arrest Napolitano?" Ducky asked.
Tim shook his head. "He was there to tip Napolitano off and for his final payout. Jimmy had signed all the paperwork I took with me. He was ready to skip town as soon as he saw proof that the Prohibition Unit was going to arrest him. I saw the warrant. It's the real McCoy," Tim said. "Wait. You didn't find it?" He shook his head. "I rolled it up and put it into my holster."
Gibbs turned around and collected Tim's holster, which still held the unfamiliar weapon. He handed it to Tim.
"This was Kidwell's," he said as he pulled out the pistol. It was a different model than his and it had a right-handed safety. "My gun was knocked out of my hand and I didn't have time to search for it with the fire getting worse every second."
Gibbs reached into the holster and pulled out the rolled piece of paper, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases. He scanned through the document. "It's the real thing," he pronounced as he handed it to Tony to examine.
"What about the paper work?" Gibbs asked. "What documents did he sign?"
"Documents to transfer his money to banks in Cuba and also a few deed transfers between dummy corporations and Jimmy's name," Tim explained. "When Charles caught sight of the bottom line he decided that what Jimmy was paying him wasn't enough. He was going to take all of Jimmy's money for himself."
"So that makes Agent John Charles our unidentified crispy critter," Tony said. "Guess that means the cops can stop dredging the river."
"Huh?" he asked, wincing as the sudden movement jarred his injury.
"Agent Charles was last seen getting into a taxi after collecting the signed warrant," Gibbs said. "Speculation was that Jimmy had picked him up and 'disappeared' him."
"The Bureau has been searching for him for the last two weeks," Tony said. "They even managed to find enough of a spine to arrest Boone. I guess they thought he had kidnapped Charles."
"They arrested Boone?" he asked. "Do they have enough to prosecute him?"
"Oh yeah," Gibbs replied. "They didn't find his dumping grounds but they did find a scrap book filled with photos of his victims. And with Fornell's testimony, he's going to get the chair."
"Good," he said as he squeezed Abby's hand. Suddenly he yawned and winced as he jarred his injuries.
"I think it may be best if we let Timothy rest for a time," Ducky said as he stood. "I'll fetch the morphine which will allow you to sleep more comfortably."
"Thanks Ducky," he said. Even though he had been sleeping for twelve days, he felt exhausted.
"You should sleep too Abs," Gibbs said.
"I have been sleeping," she said as she motioned to the pallet.
"In a real bed," Gibbs said firmly.
He looked at Abby. Now that he really looked at her, he could see that she looked exhausted and gaunt.
"I'm fine Abby," he said. "Take care of yourself." Abby looked at him and nodded. She stood up and pecked him on the cheek before she left the room. "That goes for you two, too," he said. "You look like hell."
Tony chuckled. "You should see yourself Tim," Tony said.
Ducky returned and administered the medicine. The pain eased and he felt himself dropping off.
"Go back to sleep, Tony," Gibbs said softly. "I'll keep watch over him."
Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get this posted but between being out of town and work, I wasn't able to complete my final edit to the last chapter. That in itself was a challenge and the more I edited, the more it seemed like the chapter would never end. When I finally checked my word count, I realized the final chapter was massive. So here's the good news, there's one more chapter! I found a good place to break the huge chapter and I'll wrap up the story in the next and final chapter. Hopefully, I'll get that one edited and up in a few days. Thanks again for your patience!