Warning: There be whumping here

Small Disclaimer: For those of you who may have technical knowledge of the tool I use in this section - and subsequently the rest of the story - I'm sorry. I wrote this scene based on a layman television watcher's understanding of its effect, and by the time I did the research and discovered I was WAY overestimating what the tool was capable of, I was too in love with the scene to go back. So, when you comment (and PLEASE DO comment), please don't explain how wrong I got it. Suspend your disbelief and go with it... I think you'll enjoy it.

One Less - Part 24

by joykatleen

Gibbs decided to forego talking to the guy in Baltimore for now. They didn't have enough to arrest him, and he didn't want to tip the guy off if they weren't ready to bring him in. The focus now was on the flyers, and whoever had posted them.

Ziva and McGee had returned with 30 flyers between them. Whoever it was had blanketed the homeless spots in Southeast. Abby was still in the process of printing them, but she reported she'd found sixteen good prints so far. She was running each print through AFIS as she found it. So far, nothing Navy.

McGee traced the number from the flyer. It was a burn phone, activated only two days before. There was no way to know who'd bought it. After giving it some thought and tossing around ideas in the bullpen, they'd decided Gibbs would call the number, responding to the flyers as if he was a witness hoping for the reward. They wouldn't claim to be Nicky, but they'd give whoever it was enough information that they'd have to bite. Gibbs decided they had to go tonight: All hands were to be aboard by 1600 hours tomorrow afternoon for the Saturday shove off, and no one would be allowed to leave the ship after that.

McGee gathered the equipment they'd need and they drove to a payphone on a street corner in Southeast. The caller ID and the ambient noise had to be right, just in case these guys were smarter than the average dirtbag.

Gibbs watched impatiently while McGee set up the payphone to record both sides of the conversation. The headache was back, and it was not helping his mood. When McGee pronounced he was ready, Gibbs made a test call to Ziva's cell. It worked perfectly. With all systems go, Gibbs dialed the number from the flyer.

"NCIS," came the response after three rings. McGee, listening through headphones attached to a laptop, gave Gibbs the thumbs up.

"Um, yeah, is this where I call for the reward?" Gibbs asked in a voice pitched slightly higher than his own.

"This is the place. Do you know something about the sailor's death?" The voice had no accent, nothing to distinguish it. Gibbs could hear nothing in the background.

"Maybe, yeah, I think I do," he said. "How much is the reward?" He figured that would be the first question they would expect a legitimate witness to ask.

"Depends on what you saw. What's your name?"

"Leroy," Gibbs said.

"Leroy what?"

"Uh... the sign said no names."

"That's alright, Leroy. We don't need your last name. What information do you have for us?"

"I saw it. The whole thing," Gibbs said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was there, in the warehouse. I saw the three guys who did it. Killed the guy. Only I didn't know he was a sailor. He sure didn't look like one." Gibbs tried to mimic Nicky's fast, short way of talking. It had sold him.

"Could you identify the three men if you saw them again?"

"Maybe, yeah, probably," Gibbs said. "If you show me some pictures or something?"

"We could do that. We'd sure like to talk to you in person. Can we meet somewhere?"

"Uh, okay, I guess. Will you bring the reward?" Gibbs asked.

"We sure will."

"Okay. Can you come tonight? I kind of need some money."

"Sure, we can do that. How about at the warehouse where it happened? Can you meet us there? Say, around 8:00?"

"Uh, yeah, okay. That's okay. How will I know it's you?" Gibbs asked.

"My partner and I will be there around 8:00. If you're there, you'll see us. We'll call your name."

"Okay. Be sure to call for Leroy. I don't know if anyone else will be there, and I sure don't want anyone else to get my money. Okay?"

"Okay. We'll look for you."

"Okay. Bye," Gibbs said, and hung up the phone.

"So what now, Boss?" McGee asked as he cut the recording.

"Now we see what falls into the trap."

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

Gibbs was sitting alone in the dark on the first landing of Nicky's warehouse. He'd stashed Nicky at the motel, parked McGee up on the roof of the building where he could see incoming vehicles, and placed Ziva in the doorway of a long-abandoned liquor store across from the warehouse's man door. Ziva and McGee had flipped for choice of the two outside assignments. Gibbs had chosen the inside position for himself. Part of it was selfish, Gibbs knew. He'd been spending far too much time on his feet this week and his knees were killing him. He would have spent the time walking around outside if he'd had to, but he was glad this option had been available. Plus, there was another reason: He wanted his face to be the first the dirtbags saw, if they showed up at all.

They'd arrived at the warehouse more than two hours before the scheduled meet and set up surveillance in several points around it. Gibbs wanted them to be in place early in case a counter-sting was planned. They'd seen nothing suspicious. Gibbs, wearing an old, beat-up khaki jacket and a black watch cap, had moved into the warehouse at 7:30 and taken up position on the stairs. But the meet time had come and gone twenty minutes before and so far, nothing.

"Ziva. Status," he said softly into the mike on his collar.

"Quiet," Ziva replied immediately. She was huddled under a worn Army blanket, just another homeless person trying to ward off the cold.

"Copy that," Gibbs said. "McGee?"

"Code four," McGee said, police shorthand for 'all is well.' His voice betrayed a slight shiver. McGee had the position more exposed to the weather. He'd won the toss, and Gibbs knew he'd chosen the colder spot intentionally. It was his way of apologizing for stealing Ziva's thunder with her Radkoff interrogation.

Gibbs adjusted his position and stretched his legs. Nicky had told them that most of the people who passed through the cold storage warehouse came in a little after nightfall. He seemed to have known what he was talking about: Since they'd arrived almost two hours after dark, only two people had come in. Both had seen him sitting on the stairs. One had immediately turned away. The other had hesitated, then at Gibbs' silent invitation, squeezed past him and disappeared up into the building. McGee had watched through binoculars as the one who left moved down the block and found another place to hunker down. Not their contact.

Before coming inside, Gibbs had called DiNozzo. Tony reported that Fredrick had met with McNally for half an hour. Shortly after, the Captain had called DiNozzo in and informed them that he would be taking no action against Fredrick at this time. Fredrick knew it was a second chance, and he was pleased to get it. DiNozzo had then shared with Fredrick the apparent motive for the attacks, and what they'd done so far. Fredrick had seemed stunned by the connections: he'd had no idea any of the other victims had been gay. DiNozzo read him as truthful. Fredrick had known about Ferrara, but it really had just been because of shipboard gossip. He – like so many others in this case – wasn't particularly comfortable with the thought of sharing quarters with a gay man, but certainly had no interest in hurting anyone to get rid of them. The two agents had then sat down to go over the details of all 12 cases. Fredrick had suggested some things they'd already tried, then come up with a few new ideas they could pursue on board.

DiNozzo had ended the call by saying that once again, Holbrook was working the swing shift and DiNozzo wouldn't be able to talk to him until his day was done at 2300 hours. He'd call Gibbs with an update before he went to bed.

Just before 8:30, almost half an hour behind schedule, a car pulled up alongside the building and parked. McGee had warned them it was coming, and Gibbs heard it arrive just as Ziva advised him of its presence. He told them both he copied, put his hand around the grip of his Sig inside the right pocket of his jacket, and got ready to move. Two men got out of the car, Ziva reported, heading for the door. McGee reported no additional vehicles in sight then started down through the building. Their plan called for him to stay out of sight until and unless Gibbs called for him. After the suspects entered the warehouse, Ziva was to move across the street and take up position right outside the man door, careful to stay at an angle so the street light behind her wouldn't throw her shadow ahead and broadcast her position. She would enter on signal.

The door opened, letting the street light stream into the open space. Two men stepped through and there was a pause, likely as their eyes adjusted to the light. Gibbs sat frozen on the steps. Waiting.

"Leroy?" one of them called. Showtime. Gibbs slid a step lower so they'd be able to see him and peered down the short stairway. From this distance, with the light behind them, their features were hidden. Gibbs could see they were both wearing dark pants and short dark jackets. The shorter of the two was wearing a baseball cap, the taller bareheaded, his regulation haircut barely showing in the darkness. Ballcap had his gloved hands loose at his sides. The taller man had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

"Who's there?" Gibbs asked loudly. He pitched his voice up again, to match what he'd used during the phone call.

"Are you Leroy?" the one who'd spoken – Ballcap – moved ahead of his partner, both coming toward the stairs. Gibbs could tell one thing about them immediately: They weren't expecting trouble. They moved directly toward him on a straight angle, leaving their backs exposed to the door they'd left open behind them. There was none of the caution they should be showing as combatants in potentially hostile territory. Or maybe they just didn't perceive him to be a threat.

"Who's asking?" he said. Gibbs shifted his weight forward, his left hand braced against the wall. He was ready to push to his feet but he hesitated, wanting them closer.

"NCIS. You called, said you knew something about the attack on the sailor last weekend?" The second man had yet to speak. They continued to move toward him.

The fact that they'd identified themselves falsely as members of the Service was enough all by itself to bring them in for questioning, put them in interrogation and work them for awhile. Watching the careless way they moved, Gibbs figured it wouldn't take long. He stood and took a step down. In his ear, Ziva quietly announced she was right outside the door.

"Stop there," Gibbs said. His voice was soft, with none of the command that would usually accompany such an order. He kept his left hand on the wall, his right in his pocket on the gun. The sailors stopped, one still ahead of the other.

"It's alright," Ballcap said. "It's a really great thing that you called us. Why don't you come down. We'll go for coffee, you can tell us what you saw."

"Sounds okay," Gibbs said. He took another step down. He kept his hand on his gun, and his eyes on the second man, whose hands were still hidden. It was impossible to tell what – if anything – he had in his pockets, but Gibbs' gut and common sense told him to be cautious.

When he reached the bottom of the steps, Gibbs stopped and took a breath. He was less than 10 feet from the lead man.

"Wait. How do I know you're really from NCIS. You have ID?" he asked.

"Sure," the first man said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open, showing a UN military ID card. It was too far away to read.

"Let me see," Gibbs said, and Ballcap took two steps forward, holding the wallet at arm's length. Close enough.

"That's a nice ID," Gibbs said. "But you've got a problem."

"Oh?" the man said with a curious half-smile.

"Yeah. You don't have one of these," he said in his own voice. He dipped the first two fingers of his left hand into his neckline. Both men watched as he snagged the beaded chain around his neck and pulled out his badge. He took advantage of their small distraction and drew his Sig, not pointing it at anyone, yet.

"Gibbs. NCIS. Really," he said. That was the signal. He saw Ziva turn through the doorway at the opposite end of the warehouse and move quickly toward them. Her own weapon was drawn and ready.

"I'm going to need to see your hands," Gibbs added conversationally and stepped closer to Ballcap. They were only a stride apart now. The bareheaded man was five feet behind and slightly to Gibbs' left.

Ballcap blatantly telegraphed his intent and Gibbs dropped his badge, bringing his gun to bear just as Ballcap started to turn.

"Don't," Gibbs ordered. Ballcap got only half way around before he saw Ziva and froze. The second man, hands still in pockets, looked back and forth between his partner and Gibbs.

"Hands. Now," Gibbs said more forcefully.

"Wait," the second man spoke for the first time. "I've got something you need to see." It was the voice from the phone call.

Gibbs looked at him for a moment, then nodded once. "Slowly," he said. Gibbs watched carefully as the second man started to pull something out of his pocket. It was the wrong shape to be a gun, more square than long. It snagged, and he brought his right hand over to untangle whatever it was from the edge of his pocket.

From where Ziva was standing, she couldn't see what the second man was doing. Which meant only Gibbs realized what was about to happen as the bareheaded man finally untangled his hand from his pocket. He showed Gibbs a fist-sized canister held loosely in his left hand, and a small ring with a wire and tag attached hanging from his right index finger. Then he flicked his wrist and tossed the canister over his shoulder toward Ziva.

"Incoming!" Gibbs shouted at Ziva, even as almost-forgotten training kicked in. He had subconsciously begun the count as soon as he realized that the second man had pulled the pin on a flash-bang grenade. He had five to ten seconds, depending on how the unit was constructed. Time seemed to slow down, everything happening at half speed. At three count, Gibbs took one long step forward and grabbed Ballcap's jacket in one fist as he started to turn away. In the same move, he stuffed his Sig into his waistband at the small of his back. At four count, he jerked the man toward himself, grabbing more of the jacket with his other hand and spinning them both toward the steps. The man was smaller than Gibbs, but he put up a struggle. At six count, Gibbs dug in, pulling the man in tight toward himself even as he used his greater body weight to shove them both toward the ground. The man flailed as he fell. Gibbs landed heavily on top of him, slamming the back of his head into the concrete. The baseball cap flew off. Gibbs did it again, knocking him out. Seven seconds after the pin was pulled, Gibbs closed his eyes, burying his face in the unconscious man's jacket and pressing the cloth in tight to ensure his eyes were completely sheltered. He turned his head slightly to press one ear against his shoulder. At eight seconds, the flash bang detonated.

There was a tremendous noise and a flash of light that Gibbs saw a fraction of even through the thick material covering his eyes. He felt the concussion of the blast hit him, stealing his breath for a moment. Then a ringing in his ears – worse in his uncovered left ear than his right – rose to block out all other sound. Gibbs pushed up onto his knees, straddling the man he'd been lying on, and looked over his shoulder at the open area of the warehouse. He'd escaped the worst of the flash. He could clearly see that the second man was gone, and that Ziva was lying on her side on the floor, her gun on the concrete fifteen feet away. He shouted her name, but he couldn't even hear his own voice over the ringing and doubted she'd been able to adequately protect herself. In any event, she didn't respond. He wanted to run to her, but first things first. He called for McGee to get down here, now, and turned back to the downed man, reaching for his cuffs.

Gibbs wasn't sure how long the man would be unconscious, but he was taking no chances. He looked around for something to secure the man to. There was nothing close. He stood, shaky from the effect of the blast on his ears, and dragged the guy to the closest of the fifteen or so upright steel supports that held up the floors above. He wrangled the unresisting body around so he could cuff his hands behind his back around the pole. That ought to do it. Gibbs quickly frisked him for weapons. A pocket knife in his pants went into Gibbs' jacket, but he was otherwise clean. Satisfied he was no threat, Gibbs stood and reached Ziva in three long strides. He leaned down and pressed his fingers against her neck, checking for a pulse.

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

When Gibbs yelled 'incoming,' Ziva felt an immediate surge of adrenalin. Not knowing exactly what the man had thrown, it cost her two precious seconds to follow the flight of the object and determine it was a flash-bang, and not a grenade. Then her first act – like Gibbs' – was to try to secure the suspects. Unfortunately, the two second lapse cost her. As soon as he released the canister, the second man turned and ran toward her like a charging bull. She ordered him to stop, but it was clear he had no intention of complying. Ziva lowered her aim from where she'd had it on the man's body mass and took a single shot at his legs. Several things then happened virtually simultaneously. He slammed into her, knocking her hard to the ground. She lost her grip on her gun and it slid away across the concrete. The flash-bang detonated.

Ziva had no chance to protect herself. The concussion blast, the sound, the explosion of light, all combined to temporarily daze her. She lay on the floor as the blast echoes faded, blinking her eyes and trying to decide which way was up. Ziva rolled onto her front and swept her arms and legs around her to orient herself. Concrete, no landmarks within reach, no gun nearby. She stilled, trying to sense something around the white blindness and the intense ringing in her ears. There was nothing. It was like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. She rolled onto her side and curled slightly, taking deep, measured breaths, all her instincts screaming at her to be ready for whatever came. Silently she counted to herself. At twenty-four seconds, out of nowhere, a hand on her neck.

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

Faster than Gibbs could react, Ziva's left hand shot up and she grabbed his right sleeve near his forearm. She flipped onto her back, using him for leverage, and surged up, plowing her other fist into his gut. Gibbs' breath left him in a whoof. He grabbed the sleeve of her free arm before she could hit him again, and Ziva kicked out hard, connecting with the side of his right knee. Gibbs grunted and went down, his knee hyper-extending with a rifle shot of pain. She jerked her arm out of his grip as he rolled onto his back, his right leg twisting underneath him, his Sig digging sharply into his spine. He leaned sideways to get off it and saw Ziva draw her knife out of her boot with her now free right hand. Gibbs' throat filled with the copper tang of a new flood of adrenalin and he actually felt his heart kick up another impossible notch.

Ziva was still holding his right forearm in a death grip. Gibbs swung his left up and hit her hard in the head, pulling the punch at the last second to be sure he didn't seriously hurt her. Her head snapped sideways and she dropped on top of him, increasing the pressure on his folded knee and pressing him back against the gun again. He grabbed her wrist and tried to force the knife away but the close quarters wouldn't let him lock his elbow and she bore down on him hard. Pain from his back and knee demanded his attention, but all his focus was on the bright blade of the knife, looming large in his vision. He pushed out and managed to get the knife a few inches further away. She suddenly twisted her arm, escaped his grip, and the knife found his throat. He froze, his forearm folded between them, pressing against her chest.

Gibbs' brain was reeling. He fought against instinct and muscle memory that demanded he put down the threat. He shouted her name, trying to break through. With her face only inches from his own, he could see her eyes were wide, pupils pinpoint. She was blind as well as deaf. The effect of the flash-bang was relatively short – another minute or two tops – but Gibbs knew it was plenty of time for her to kill him.

The wide beam of a flashlight bounced across them. Gibbs spared a glance up as his junior agent ran into his line of sight behind Ziva. If the situation hadn't been so potentially deadly, Gibbs would have laughed at the shocked expression on McGee's face. He was saying something, but all Gibbs could hear was the ringing in his ears, and his own pounding heart.

"She can't hear you. Me neither," Gibbs said, and McGee's jaw snapped shut. "Don't touch her. Just relax." Her knuckles were pressed against his jaw, the knife against his throat, unmoving. He felt a trickle of something run down his neck toward the back of his jacket. Blood.

"Just relax," Gibbs repeated, not entirely certain if he was talking to McGee or himself. The light was trembling. The kid was probably as nervous as Gibbs was.

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

When the man's hand touched her throat, Ziva reacted to the threat with deadly force. She grabbed at the hand, holding it tight so the man wouldn't be able to escape to sneak up on her again, or attack from a distance. She felt him pull back, understood that he was facing her, and went for it. A solid right to the gut and a whoosh of coffee-scented breath on her face. The man grabbed her free arm and she kicked out. She felt him sag to the ground next to her. She jerked her arm free, twisted toward him, and reached into her boot to pull her knife. A punch to the side of her head. Hard, but she had been hit far harder.

Ziva threw herself on top of the body she could feel writhing next to her. He grabbed her wrist. She fought it, trying to bring the knife to bear. With a violent twist she got her wrist free, felt his free arm come between them, then found his neck with the blade. He froze. She rested her knuckles against his jaw, applying just enough pressure with the knife so she knew he'd feel it and took a few deep breaths, planning her next move. She realized she could sense a light source in front of her. Her vision was starting to clear. She felt him move a little and she pressed the knife more firmly into his skin. If he moved again, she would cut his throat without hesitation. Then suddenly something sparked in her brain. Something familiar. A smell. The man she was lying on had coffee breath and smelled of … sawdust?

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

Ziva suddenly dropped her face closer to him and Gibbs felt her breath on his ear. She inhaled deeply against the side of his neck, and the knife moved away an inch. She cocked her head slightly and a look of confusion passed over her face. Gibbs wasn't sure what she was doing, but he took advantage of it and made his move. He jerked free the arm she still held, pushing out with his other forearm. As he grabbed her jacket and used his momentum to roll them over, he felt the knife nick him, deep. He hissed at the pain.

Gibbs landed on top of her and shoved himself upright, a small scream escaping his lips at the weight he put on his knee. He shifted sideways to a less excruciating position, at the same time grabbing both of her forearms and driving them to the ground. His badge, dangling on its neck chain, hit her in the face and she jerked her head away. He straddled her waist, his weight on her thighs, as she struggled to get her arms lose. Gibbs drove the back of her right hand hard into the ground, bearing down to keep her from bucking him off. He smashed her knuckles against the concrete again, and this time her hand spasmed open, the knife flying away. He let go of her left hand, ripped his badge off over his head, and pressed the metal into her open right palm. For a moment she struggled, punching at him with her free hand. Then her right hand closed over the leather-backed brass and she stilled. Ziva's fingers worked over it for a few seconds. He saw the moment realization dawned: She relaxed all at once. Gibbs rolled off her, lying on his back next to her in the beam of McGee's flashlight and taking deep, gasping breaths. He rotated his leg so his knee was upright and reached underneath himself to draw his Sig out of his waistband, letting it rest against his chest.

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

The smell had made Ziva hesitate while her brain tried to put the pieces together, to understand why her instinct to kill was being overrun. She had lain there for only a few seconds before the man beneath her lunged up and the fight was on again. She was flipped over onto her back, and something hit her in the face. Not hard, just startling. Ziva tried to bring the knife back around, but he grabbed her wrists and forced them away. Her knuckles hit the ground and she cried out, managing just barely to hang onto the knife. She twisted and bucked, trying to throw him off, trying to get her hands free. He slammed her knife hand into the concrete again and this time she couldn't keep her fingers closed. The knife flew away. He let go of her left wrist. She didn't understand why he was letting her go, but she took advantage of it and punched him, twice. Then something was pressed into her open right hand. Something metal, round. No, not round, oval. An oval metal disc backed with a slightly larger, slightly warm piece of leather. She closed her fingers over it and the pieces clicked. Coffee breath, sawdust smell, badge. Gibbs.

Ziva relaxed all at once, and Gibbs rolled off her. She lay there for a moment, not moving, clutching the badge. One thought overwhelmed her: Please God, let him be okay.

to be continued...

Please do comment. Like it or not, I'd love to hear you've made it this far.