The Gibbs Says Uncle Affair
by Gale Force
Part 6.
Dr. Donald Mallard opened his eyes and blinked up at the ceiling.
It was a strange ceiling - not the ceiling of the bedroom in his home, nor the ceiling of the hotel room he'd been in for the last two days.
He sat up, and then lay back again, as his head began to swim.... had he had a stroke or something...was he in hospital?
He raised his hand, and saw his shirt-cuff. No hospital then.
He rolled over onto one elbow, and got a good look around before his head started to swim again and he was forced to flop back.
He was hallucinating.
In the far corner of the room was a television - a television with rabbit ears, the kind that hadn't been seen since the 1960s. Beside the bed was a night stand, with a couple of paperback books on it and a phone that hadn't been seen since the 60s, either! A big, black phone with a rotary dial and a large receiver.
A phone.
Ducky rolled over again, grabbed up the clunky receiver and brought it to his ear. There was no dial tone...he let the receiver drop and closed his eyes.
He felt for his chest pocket...nothing there.
He put his hands in his front pockets...nothing in either one. He felt his rear pockets. Again, nothing.
After a few seconds, Ducky raised his hand again. He was wearing a shirt and it went all the way down to his wrist, indeed, but it was not a shirt he owned...he propped himself up on his elbows. His slacks were different, too. And his shoes. What in the world?
Ducky put his hands on his belly... well...that was the same, anyway. He raised them to his head...felt around, but there were no lumps or bumps to indicate that he'd been knocked unconscious.
What was the last thing he remembered? He'd been in Norfolk, attending a conference. He had gone with Abby to see a basketball game. Quite a spirited game, and Abby had been so pleased when her team had won... and then...yes, a man had approached him, asked him for his business card...a Russian. Pretending to know him...
Had that been a set-up? It must have been.
The next day... the conference, as usual. Returned to the hotel. Agreed to meet Abby in the lobby for dinner in two hours, and had settled down in his room to relax, perhaps take a 30 minute nap...and after that...
After that...he couldn't remember.
Ducky forced himself to relax.
Obviously, he'd been kidnapped. Equally obviously, there was some kind of plan afoot for him. This 1960s decor...why...had he worked on some case in the 1960s and now some mentally disturbed individual wanted to make him relive that time? Much as in that case from a few years ago, when a young man had kidnapped women and kept them in a room decorated in the 1950s fashion, complete with a manual for The Proper Wife.
Well...if that was the case...they'd want him in this room for a good long time...and the longer he stayed here...the more chance there'd be for Gibbs and Gibbs team to find him.
Yes...he must keep calm, keep a mental balance. Gibbs would find him.
Feeling calmer, Ducky suddenly realized that he was feeling ravenous, and terribly thirsty. He must have been unconscious for much longer than 24 hours...possibly even 36.
Ducky rolled over again, then, very slowly sat up and put his feet over the edge of the bed. So far, so good.
There was a door opposite the bed. It would undoubtedly be locked, nevertheless he might as well try it. Carefully, Ducky walked across the room and tried the doorknob. Yes, locked. He placed his palm on the doorjamb and tugged at the doorknob violently, just to let out a wee bit of anger.
No good. As he removed his hand from the doorjamb, he noticed black smudges on it. He turned his hands over and looked at his fingers. There were black smudges there...he'd been fingerprinted!
What on earth?
Ducky returned to the phone, and picked up the wire that ran from it to the wall. It was plugged in. He lifted up the receiver. Still, no dial tone.
He turned on the television. To his surprise, there was a click and a buzz as electricity began to course through the machine, and then a program came on. He turned the channels...there were only three...no one had hooked up cable to this room, he saw. And the programs were familiar...all from t he late 1960s, if he was not very much mistaken. More of this "back in time" foolishness.
Well, they could toy with him all they liked, but if they didn't give him something to drink soon..
Wait... there was another door. He pulled that one open, and found himself in the bathroom. An inner bathroom - no window to the outside. But there was a toilet, and a tub, and a sink. He turned on the tap...and cool water came gushing forth. Ducky held both hands under the tap and drank until he was sated.
Well.
Well, well.
Feeling tired again, Ducky returned to the bed and lay on it. He took a look at the paperbacks.
A pristine copy of The Godfather, by Mario Puzo. Copyright 1969. A first edition. And Michael Moorcock's Behold the Man. Also a first edition, 1969.
"Charming," murmured Ducky. Neither book had then been or was now his cup of tea. And he could think of nothing that connected them to his past, no special reason why they should be in the room. Perhaps whoever had him prisoner just wanted to bore him to death.
Stay calm, he told himself, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. Stay calm. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything. Gibbs will come for you, but if you see a chance...take it... he slept.