Chapter Twenty Three

February 5, 2011 – 3:39am

Tony's apartment was dark and cooler than normal – most likely, the agent had turned down the thermostat the last time he'd been here, knowing that the stolen weapons case would probably keep him from home for an extended period of time. Jimmy pulled the envelope out of his pocket and hid it in the middle of a stack of unopened mail on Tony's coffee table.

He thought about what he'd written as he closed the door behind him and locked it. If he succeeded tonight, he ought to be able to get here and retrieve the letter before Tony would be able to come home. If he didn't succeed, then the letter would no longer exist when the night started over. And if the night was only partially a success – well, that was why he'd written the letter.

Here's hoping this works – because I don't want to have to do this again.

His next stop was several miles out of his way, but Jimmy was careful not to exceed the speed limit as he drove down the interstate. He kept telling himself that he had plenty of time, that he'd planned for this, that everything would work out – and that getting pulled over by the state police would not help matters any.

Finally, Jimmy pulled into the parking lot of a large truck stop several miles past Rothstown, just off I-66. He'd seen billboards for this place before. It wasn't just a fuel stop; it was a truck driver's dream in terms of amenities. Showers, laundry facilities, wireless internet – and pay-per-page fax machines, which was the feature that Jimmy was most interested in just now.

He didn't know if the place had security cameras, so he made sure to keep his head down as he walked in. A large sign directed him to the back, where two fax machines waited. A dollar per page? Seriously? But Jimmy didn't argue; he just fed his dollar into the appropriate slot. Knowing that the fax would be traced back to this location and that someone would eventually come to investigate, he pulled out his keys and used the end of his car key to punch in the number – the fax machine in the bullpen at NCIS.

He'd thought long and hard about how much to write, but in the end, he'd kept it short and to the point: 1. Remote transmitters have been planted in cars of public officials including Chairman of JCS. 2. When you figure out where the bomb is, don't use the doors, they're rigged to explode. He'd done his best to disguise his handwriting, but it probably wouldn't fool an expert if said expert had a sample of Jimmy's writing to compare it to. Jimmy would just have to make sure that he never came under suspicion.

Jimmy waited just long enough for the machine to confirm that the fax went through, then left. Once he was inside his car, he tore the note into pieces. As he drove back down I-66, he rolled down his window and let the pieces blow away in the wind. It was the first time he had ever intentionally thrown litter out of his car, but Jimmy couldn't feel too guilty about it.

That's the first part done. With any luck, the team will spend some time trying to trace the fax and figure out who sent it, so that will hopefully give me more time to get in and out before they show up.

Jimmy had considered adding the exact location of the bomb to his anonymous note, but he finally chose not to. He couldn't be 100% positive that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs would change his plans, even with the warning; Vance had said that the man's sister was in the hospital, and Jimmy knew just how strong the bond between siblings could be. He also couldn't be sure that one of the other targets wouldn't go driving by while the team was inside. He didn't have actual proof that the FBI and ATF agents had set off the traps the night that he got blown up; it was entirely possible that McGee and Ziva had stopped them, only to have the senator or the lobbyist or whoever drive by at the same time.

The main bomb was the real danger, because of that uncertainty; Jimmy knew that if the agents were aware of the bombs on the doors – as they were now, thanks to his fax – it would be easy for them to avoid setting off the boobytraps. So Jimmy's plan was the same as it had been two nights before – get in and disable the main bomb, then get back out before the agents showed up.

He hoped it would work better this time.

It was a little after 4am when Jimmy pulled into his favorite parking lot in all of Rothstown, Virginia, just seven blocks away from his least favorite office building. When this is over, I swear, I am never coming anywhere near this place again. He grabbed his backpack, locked the car, then started south on the roundabout path to the house where he'd hidden in the hedges to watch the building.

They should get here anytime in the next, oh, twenty minutes or so. I'll wait until they leave, then get in there and figure out what I'm doing with the wiring. Worst case, I'll call Abby and – but no, I really don't want to do that. I still don't want her to know that I know…

Jimmy settled into his spot behind the hedges and wrapped his arms around his legs, trying to find a comfortable position that he could maintain for as long as he had to wait. I'm going to do this thing, and then I'm going home, he thought, hoping that his positive intentions would have some impact on tonight's events. I'll stop by Tony's first, and tear up that letter. Then I'm going home, and I'll watch the sun come up, and then I'm going to bed and I don't want to wake up until Tony comes home and crawls into bed with me…

He watched and waited patiently until two cars pulled into the parking lot of the Art Jones Building. One of the cars went right back to the employee entrance, where the driver unloaded what looked like a large garbage can. Yep, I was right. The car was then parked on the opposite side of the building, next to the other car, and the two men opened the window and carefully manhandled the can inside.

Jimmy kept an eye on his watch. Without the inconvenience of an autopsy assistant stumbling upon them, the two men took about twenty minutes from arrival to departure. Jimmy waited ninety seconds, during which he pulled on his hat and gloves; then he slung his backpack over his shoulder and ran for the building, heading straight for the window. Again, he debated with himself over whether the window should be left open, but again, he decided that it would be better to not draw attention.

This trip up the stairs was taken at a much slower pace than last time, and it went much more smoothly – no unwelcome encounters to surprise him this time. Jimmy made his way to the document sorter, dropping his backpack and sitting cross-legged on the floor before opening the front access panel to reveal the inner workings of the bomb.

Abby pointed out three wires that she thought might link the signal receiver to the detonator, Jimmy remembered. He aimed his flashlight into the interior of the sorter – and froze as he realized that with the addition of the extra explosive material, there were now more and different wires threaded throughout the small space.

Oh, crap…

Jimmy slapped his open palm on the floor in frustration. He'd been working at this for more than fifteen minutes, and he still couldn't figure out how the bomb was set up. There were wires that seemed to go nowhere, that Abby had insisted that he not touch; wires that seemed important, that she'd told him were probably decoys; and then there were at least a dozen more that had been added after the time when he'd taken those pictures.

I can't call Abby now even if I wanted to, Jimmy thought. There's not enough time. He sighed and sat back, glaring at the machine that had been the bane of his existence these last few days.

What would Tony do in this situation? Jimmy wondered idly. He shook his head, a grim smile upon his face. I know what he'd do; he'd ask himself, 'What would Gibbs do?' And I'm pretty sure I know, but I'm not allowed to carry a gun, so I can't just shoot it.

The image of Gibbs pulling his gun and shooting at the bomb stayed with him; then, another thought started to take shape. Maybe I'm making this harder than it needs to be. Think, Palmer. Abby said that the easiest way to disarm it would be to break the connection between the receiver and the detonator. I can't figure out how to do that. So… is there any way to block the signal from being received?

Jimmy shined his flashlight at the receiver, looking at it carefully. Then a silly smile crossed his face. Oh my God… could it really be that simple? Or is this going to get me blown up again? Only one way to find out…

He reached into his backpack and pulled out the multi-tool that he'd received from his uncle years before for Christmas. Uncle Rob never could stand the fact that Jimmy wasn't more mechanically inclined, like his kids were; he kept trying to get Jimmy involved in his projects, like engine rebuilding or do-it-yourself home improvements. Jimmy had never been interested in that kind of thing, but he did actually appreciate this particular gift. It was several different tools combined into one – pliers, screwdriver, corkscrew, knife, plus several other things that Jimmy had no idea what to do with.

But he knew how to use the screwdriver. Jimmy very carefully picked up the receiver, making sure not to pull the attached wires free, and began unscrewing the side panel of the device.

Wow – a 9-volt battery may be all that makes the difference between a working explosive device and a pile of useless junk. Or it might immediately turn it into a working explosive device if it's removed. One good thing, though – if it doesn't blow up, there's almost no way anyone's going to find a 9-volt battery around here to replace this. No one ever has one of these when they need it.

I really hope this works. Here goes…