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A/N: I have been sick the last four days, and so this has been hard to write. I hope it works. Your encouragement and support has meant a great deal to me. Thank you, Sheila

A Man Left Behind

Chapter 4

He heard noises in Paolo's cell. Harsh whispers. Paolo was in conversation with someone again. It made McGee's heart beat faster. Every day now, Paolo had visitors at his cell door. The voices were always urgent but too muffled for McGee to catch actual words. He asked Paolo for details but the old literature professor merely answered his questions in riddles.

McGee slept for a while in the heat of the midday. The only relief he could find was from the cool of the clay floor. He lay on his back with his arm slung across his face. No one had come to question him in several days, but it brought him no relief. The interrogations had become familiar and the break in that pattern suggested something more ominous was on the horizon.

McGee suspected that the end for him was near, and that his afternoon in the courtyard was coming soon. And if that didn't take him, he suspected his health would steal him. Standing left him lightheaded, and he doubted he could run 20 feet without stumbling. A fever often visited in the evenings wracking him with muscle aches and chills, and he debated whether it was malaria or dengue. Urination had become terribly painful, and his kidneys ached continually.

"McGee!"

He turned his head slowly toward the hole in the wall. Paolo was pushing something through the small entrance. McGee reached over and grabbed the crusty piece of bread from the hole. "Bread?"

"Yes, my friend. Bread. Eat."

He chewed on the crust and welcomed the warm yeasty flavors- memories from a time that seemed so long ago.

"You have to stay strong."

"What do you know, Paolo? What do your friends tell you? Do you have news?"

"No McGee. I am just arguing rhetoric with old students."

"You're a bad liar."

The old man chuckled. "There is nothing for you to know. If there was a morsel for you, I would share just as I have done with this bread."

"It will be over soon. That's the only comfort I have now."

There was a long pause.

"Paolo?"

"It is not your time yet, McGee. Don't give up now."

"A week ago, you wanted me to accept my fate."

"You were being too American then. Now, you are being too Berumian."

"Please Paolo, don't keep things from me. I have no fear left. Let me have the time to prepare."

"I promise."

McGee reached through the hole, his hand barely fitting. "Take my hand."

The older man's brown hand enveloped his, and the warm touch of a friendly person felt electric.

"I worry for you as much as I worry for myself, Paolo. You are the only friend I have left in this world. If you know of your fate, tell me. No surprises, please."

McGee closed his eyes, teary from the feel of Paolo stroking his hand gently. "Shush, my friend. There is no news to tell you. Relax. I will share with you more of the bad poetry I tried to have published in my youth. It seems to calm you."

McGee closed his eyes. "I like your love poems. Tell me the one again about the girl with the green eyes and jet-black hair. It reminds me of someone I know."

…..

Laurent Pierce jerked up when the lights came in interrogation. He yelped as the handcuffs cut at his wrists. He blinked wildly. "What time is it? You've left me here for days."

Gibbs ignored him as he placed a water bottle in front of him and uncuffed one of his hands.

Pierce watched as a bald man with hard eyes sat down across from him. Then another man entered and he reacted. "Oh my God! Sheldon, I'm so glad you're here. Tell me you have my lawyer with you."

Parks, a short Asian-American man, sat down next to the bald man. "I have no lawyer for you, Laurent."

"You have to listen to my side of this, Sheldon. You owe me that much!"

"I owe you nothing. I have put up with your duplicity for years."

"I have rights!"

"Shut up!" Gibbs was curt. "You have one chance to save yourself, Laurent. So shut up and listen."

Pierce sat back and waited.

The bald man leaned forward. "How would you like a new job?"

"I don't understand."

"We'll keep you with Interdyne. You'll go to Berumi, but you'll work for me."

"Who are you?"

"Trent Kort."

"I'm confused."

Kort smiled. "I thought he was supposed to be smart."

Pierce frowned. "You're CIA, aren't you? You want me to spy."

"Yes. We plan to depose Saldana."

Pierce looked at Parks. "We have a treaty, Sheldon. This would put Interdyne at risk."

"There is no Interdyne in Berumi if Saldana overthrows Monterros. You're an idiot to think otherwise."

"We need Berumi!"

Parks slapped the table. "We can survive losing Berumi, but we can't survive collaborating with a monster."

"This would put me at tremendous risk. I'm not a spy. I can't do this."

Gibbs approached the table. "It's your choice, Laurent. But if you don't take this job offer in the next ten minutes, we're going to charge you as a terrorist under the Patriot Act. It will be at least a year before you'll get to meet with that lawyer you keep asking about."

Pierce shook his head. "You can't do that."

"We can and we will. You work for the CIA or you go to jail for a very long time."

Pierce hung his head for a long minute. Finally, he sighed. "How is this supposed to work?"

"You're going to Berumi in two days just as planned, and you're going to bring your team. You'll meet with Saldana and you'll negotiate McGee's release as you said you would. You'll tell him that U.S. officials will see your rescue of McGee as indication that you can handle the post as new CEO of Interdyne. Bringing McGee home will keep the U.S. from bringing sanctions against Interdyne for working with a hostile government."

Pierce nodded slowly. "I can do that. I want to bring Tim home. You can trust me."

Gibbs snorted. "That's funny. I'm glad you still have your sense of humor. I understand that you are bringing a team of three with you as well as Ziva masquerading as your girlfriend."

"Yeah, Jack Hanson, Rory Mattson, and Tom Hagen."

"DiNozzo will be Hagen, I'll be Hanson, and Kort here will be Mattson."

"No, that's not going to work. I need my real team!"

"Park here is going to help us with ID's. We've been given access to Interdyne databases to make the necessary changes, and the real Hanson, Hagen, and Mattson are about to get a relaxing week at a swanky D.C. hotel so that no questions are raised."

"There has to be another way!"

Gibbs opened the door and ushered Parks and Kort out. Then he turned to Pierce. "There's an agent outside the door that will get you showered, fed, and back to work. You screw this up, and I will see to it that you die in a jail. That's a promise and a threat."

….

She scrubbed at her eyes again before peering again at the passports she was creating for the team. The print was small and her work needed to be meticulous, but eyestrain wasn't what was plaguing her. She finished the last addition, and put it up to the light. It was good. Perfect, in fact. She knew it would pass through any official in any airport in the world.

She placed it carefully next to the rest of them. Gibbs' was the one that really intrigued her. That silver hair and blue eyes were too distinct for a small airport like the one in Berumi. Someone was sure to recognize him from his previous visit. Ziva had wrangled him into a bathroom last night and dyed his hair brown. Jimmy fit him with dark brown contacts. It had been chilling for Abby the first time he walked into her lab. His icy blue eyes were so distinctive. Dark brown eyes changed his look completely. On his chiseled face, those eyes looked dead like a shark's.

"Were you here all night?"

She turned, blinking hard. "Tony!"

He smiled. "Just call me Tom. Can you believe I got Tom Hagen?"

She looked at him in confusion.

"Tom Hagen. Come on, Abbs! Don Corleone's consigliere in The Godfather. Robert Duvall played him."

"I…I didn't think."

"Hey," he said, stepping up. "Are you crying?"

She shrugged. "I'm fine."

He pulled her in tightly. "It's going to be okay."

"You don't know that," she mumbled into his jacket.

He leaned back and searched her face. "He's alive, Abbs."

"Three days ago he was. What about now? What about the rest of you? Ducky leaves today and the rest of you leave tomorrow. Are any of you coming back?"

"We're coming back. I promise you."

She frowned. "You're an arrogant son of a bitch to make me that promise."

He smiled. "I know."

"I'll be even more destroyed than I am now….as if that were possible."

"I got a feeling in my bones, Abbs. We're going to be okay."

She wrinkled her nose. "You smell…nice."

He snorted. "In other words, I don't smell like booze."

"I was worried."

"I slept like a baby last night. First time in months. I finally have something to do. I have a focus. I'm going to go get him and bring him home."

"And the booze?"

"Didn't even think about it."

A smile spread across her face. "Did you see Gibbs?"

He made a face. "It's too weird. I can barely look at him."

"I know!"

He wiped under her eyes with his thumb. "Okay! Let's focus. I gotta' learn how to be Tom Hagen in a day."

She nodded.

He turned at the door. "When we bring him home, you might want to think about telling him how deep he's buried in your heart, Abbs. He might like hearing something like that after all he's been through."

She covered her mouth as her eyes filled again.

…..

The chills and muscle aches signaled another night of fever, and so he talked as a distraction to his agony. "I don't know how to play, Paolo. Never really learned, I guess. About a year ago, I had wracked up the maximum amount of vacation time allowed, and I offered some of it to a co-worker-"

"You can do this?"

McGee smiled up into the darkness as he considered Paolo's question. "In case of prolonged illness in a co-worker, yes. But there was no one I knew in that situation and the truth is that I have skills. I was merely going to go into the system and transfer it into his account, but I had to tell him or he would never find it. My friend, Tony…is like that. Brilliant in many ways and absent in others. Anyway, I thought he would be happy, but he wasn't. He pitched a fit."

"He picked a what?"

"I'm sorry. It's another American colloquialism. He got angry with me. Said I needed to learn how to relax and have fun. Our boss overheard and the next thing I knew, Tony had booked me on a flight to the U.S. Virgin Islands for a week. He picked the hotel, the beaches, everything. He told me to use his name with the concierge and the bartender. He promised me a good time."

"The islands are beautiful. I have been there before."

"Yes, they were very beautiful and they all remembered Tony. They thought I would be like him, but I wasn't. The first morning I got up, put on my SPF 75, went down to the pool, and ordered a drink with an umbrella in it. By noon, I had heat stroke. In the afternoon, I broke out from an allergy to the pineapple in my drink. I came back from the local emergency room in the evening just in time to have dinner and I met a beautiful woman…"

"Ah, the story is starting to look up."

"We had dinner together, drinks, and I was just getting ready to ask her to come with me to the beach the next day when she told me how much she charged for a blowjob."

Paolo erupted in laughter on the other side of the wall and McGee smiled in spite of himself. "I'm a law enforcement agent and I couldn't spot a hooker."

"Then what?"

McGee sighed. "Nothing. I went back to my room alone. The next day, I paid a kid $300 to take pictures of cool things with my camera so I could bring back stories, and I spent the rest of the time at the hotel reading books and playing video games online."

"But you are delightful, McGee, and a handsome man. I have seen your face. Where is the woman in your life or, perhaps, it is a man?"

He hugged his body against the wall for comfort. "It's women but I was not so good with them, I guess."

"I don't buy it, my friend. There is a special one. She has been elusive. The one with the jet-black hair, perhaps."

Tim swallowed. "She's so different than I am. So excited and energetic. Beautiful and unique- everyone who meets her, loves her. Everyone."

"She loves you?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "As a friend, I had no doubt, but a woman like her wanting a lifetime with a man like me- about that, I had many doubts."

"When you talk, you keep slipping into the past tense. Where has your American belief in a happy ending gone?"

"I guess I'm just ready for this to be over. It has been a lifetime. Perhaps, I didn't accomplish everything I wanted, but I know that I mattered. I know that I tried to do good in this life, to help others. That has to be enough, Paolo. Knowing that gives me some peace."

"Most people don't base their legacies on what they did for others. I don't know this dark-haired beauty, but if she is as exquisite as you say, then she knows how very special you are."

"Is tomorrow the end? Please tell me." He rolled around the tiny cot struggling for relief from the fever.

"I don't know, my friend. I don't know."

…

Ziva clutched Laurent's arm as they lead the team down the tarmac to the waiting officials. "I am your loyal girlfriend and I will be with you every minute, but never misunderstand me. There is nothing that would please me more than stabbing you in the eye with a pencil. I dream about it at night."

"Ziva!"

"My name is Cassia. Don't make that mistake again."

A man in military uniform stepped forward. "Mr. Pierce, I trust your flight was comfortable."

Laurent nodded. "It's always such a pleasure to land in your beautiful country."

"The General wants to know if you need a day or two to relax. The rainy season is upon us, but the mornings are quite lovely."

"The General is very generous, but we have a great deal on our agenda. It is my hope that we can meet as soon as possible."

"Excellent! I will contact the General. He is quite eager to meet with you. Please wait here while we bring the cars."

Ziva steered Laurent back to the group. "We should be able to meet this afternoon."

Gibbs looked out on the ocean. There were few places on the small island that didn't have an ocean view. Under different circumstances, the warm ocean breeze and the beautiful palms would've been a tonic for a stressful life, but all Gibbs saw was a volcanic island with no friends to count on and few places to hide.

"What's taking so long?" Tony took off his jacket and fanned the nape of his neck.

"Calm down," Kort said under his breath.

"You don't need to tell me what—"

"Shhh!" Gibbs said sharply as the limousine slowly drove onto the runway.

Ziva leaned into Pierce, pretending to straighten his tie. "You stay cool, Laurent. Not too eager, but you're going to be firm."

The drive into the capital was punctuated with an impromptu tour by their military guide as he pointed out the remains of Portuguese forts and various resorts. Gibbs looked out the window, but pretended little interest in the different sites. They were here on a mission that had very little planning. If it went wrong, then it was over for all of them. Still, he had no regrets. None of them would rest until they were whole again.

"Jack."

He stayed lost in thought until he felt a tug on his arm. He turned sharply to Kort who nodded at Pierce. "Jack, Laurent was just asking you to tell the major about your role as liaison between Interdyne and the U.S. Government.

Gibbs blinked. "I apologize. My mind was elsewhere. I worked for the State Department for several years before coming to Interdyne. I troubleshoot on behalf of Interdyne with the State Department. Try to keep lines of communication open."

The Berumian major glared at him. "Your loyalties are with whom, Mr. Hanson?"

"Whomever signs my paychecks."

"We'll not tolerate U.S. agents on Berumian soil. Our treaty with Interdyne is very clear on this subject."

"I understand."

The major turned back to Pierce. "The General is very concerned about your interest in the U.S. spy we captured on Berumian soil. You should not interfere in our security issues."

Pierce hesitated briefly. "I would prefer to discuss our interest in this matter directly with the General."

"Of course. We are pulling into his compound now."

Saldana's estate was an old plantation with acres of gardens patrolled by guards carrying automatic weapons. Gibbs couldn't help calculating the distance to the road and the amount of resistance they would meet along the way.

Saldana sat on a veranda in full military regalia. He was a tall, portly man wearing every ribbon he had. The deep purple sash was clearly an embellishment all his own. It reminded Gibbs of the vanity of some powerful and cruel men- a desire for adulation and to be recognized for their clear superiority.

He welcomed them with open arms. "Laurent, I've been so looking forward to your return."

He enveloped Pierce tightly. He let go when he saw Ziva. He took her hand, kissing it elaborately. "Hello, my beauty. It is a pleasure to meet you most of all."

His lechery would have turned Gibbs' stomach if not for the fact that Ziva could kill him with her bare hands.

"This is my girlfriend, Cassia, and the rest of my team. Jack Hanson. Tom Hagen. And Rory Mattson."

Saldana offered hearty handshakes and big smiles to all of them. "Sit down! Sit down! We have cocktails! There is nothing else to do on a sultry Berumian afternoon."

They sat and accepted the Berumian equivalent of a caipirinha. Saldana chatted aimlessly about the beauty of Berumi for several minutes while they sipped the strong drinks and looked out on the manicured lawn. When he switched topics, it was abrupt. "Laurent, I hope your presence here means that the power within the company has shifted."

"Parks is still the CEO, but the board is slowly seeing that I am the better future for the company."

"Parks has slowed production here. We can't afford that, Laurent. Our people are hungry. You must remove him soon. I am counting on you."

"It's not that easy, General. We don't depose people in the U.S., and because the company is so large, the government also has a say in any takeover bid."

Saldana spit over the railing. "The U.S. government involves itself in too many matters. Too powerful. Too arrogant."

"Change can be slow, General. If we want faster change, we have to take action."

"For this reason, you want me to give you the U.S. spy, the son of a Navy Admiral." The bitterness in Saldana's voice told them that this would be no simple task.

"Yes, General."

He shook his head. "You ask too much, Laurent. It is better that we drop the whole matter."

Pierce looked at Gibbs who stood slowly. "General, I would like to say something here."

"You're Hanson?"

"Yes. I worked for the U.S. government for many years. If Pierce is able to successfully negotiate the release of this American, it would show the government that he is the right man to lead Interdyne. I can almost guarantee that there would be no opposition to a takeover bid."

"He is a spy!"

"He was working for a civilian agency at the time and he only helped in the rescue of two children. I have researched this deeply through my contacts. He was not a spy."

"He confessed! My people have told me this."

"People say whatever they need to when they are being rigorously interrogated. This man is not a spy, but he is the key to Berumi's economic growth."

Saldana looked away. "I don't like the idea of Americans getting what they want always. You're a spoiled people who don't understand what real struggle is."

"But you are not our parent, General. Chastising us gets you nowhere. Berumi needs Interdyne. We have a way to increase production in country, but we can only guarantee that with your help."

"There are other ways."

"Sure. If you want to wait another year or two, perhaps our takeover efforts will succeed then."

Saldana paced back and forth while they all watched silently. Finally, he turned to them. "I will think about it."

Gibbs nodded, careful not to let the relief show on his face.

"What is his condition?" DiNozzo asked.

"How should I know? Do you think I wake every morning thinking of the poor American in my prison?"

"Can we see him?"

"Your persistence annoys me."

Tony glanced at Ziva. Everything depended on playing this correctly. Pushing him too hard would be a disaster. Suddenly, Saldana barked for one of his guards. "Take this American to El Corazon. He wishes to see the American spy. Let him see for himself what condition he is in. Only then will he know what he is dealing with."

Suddenly, DiNozzo was being hustled into a waiting jeep and driven off the grounds.

….

DiNozzo sat quietly during the 45 minute drive along the coast, trying to hold his composure. He refused to entertain the notion that he was going there as a prisoner. Such fears did him little good at this point. For a while, the scenery was nothing more than beaches and an occasional fishing village. Then he spotted the prison in the distance. It was dark, built out of the volcanic rock of the island. It was old and crumbling, obviously a holdover from Portuguese rule.

He was relieved when nobody tried to handcuff him or manhandle him in any way upon arrival. The dampness of everything was immediately evident, and there was something about the acoustic in the high stone ceilings that played with sound. Even before he entered, it was as the prison was moaning ghostly noises. It didn't remind him of Papillon or Midnight Express or any other movie. It was real life, and he could sense the death and suffering clinging to its damp stone.

Noise floated everywhere inside. Some of it were obvious cries of distress, but DiNozzo couldn't tell if it came from the next room or from somewhere else altogether. Along with the noise, there were the deep, wretching smells of mold and unwashed flesh. They led him a series of winding corridors so twisted he was unsure he could find his way out. Finally, they deposited him in a room with a wooden table and chairs and left him. One of the chairs had leather straps attached and stains splashed into the wood. Tony closed his eyes as he imagined the horrible beatings that had undoubtedly been carried out there.

He jumped when the thick wooden door opened and two guards came in, dragging a man between them. They dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. Tony stared in horror as the thin man struggled to his knees.

Tony knew how important it was that he maintain some detachment so he stayed seated and spoke. "My name is Tom Hagen, Sir. Are you Timothy McGee?"

The dirty and bruised figure on the floor froze for a moment and then looked up. "I am Timothy McGee."

Tony nodded slowly. "You don't know me, Timothy. I work for Interdyne."

McGee's eyes were red and watery. "I'm confused."

"It's okay, Timothy. All you have to know is that my name is Tom and I am here to help."

McGee tried to maneuver himself onto one of the chairs, but his weight was too much and it fell over with him toppling over it. Tony jumped up and ran to him, picking him up gently and guiding him to another chair. It was out of character, but it happened so he turned to the guard sharply and barked. "This man needs water! Get him something to drink! I came here directly from General Saldana!"

The arrogance was either going to work or backfire spectacularly. Luckily, the guard just turned and ran out the door. Tony propped him up in the chair and knelt in front of him. His condition was beyond anything he had imagined. His clothes were torn and had long since lost any color other than a sweaty gray. His skin was mottled with marks and dirt, and when he touched McGee around the middle, he flinched. There was no way for Tony to offer him any measure of relief and so he patted him gently and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Tim."

"I don't understand."

"Just remember that my name is Tom and I work for Interdyne. Can you do that?"

"I've been sick. When the fever comes, I see things."

Tony took his face in his hands. "This is real. I'm real. Feel my hands."

A hand folded over Tony's and McGee's eyes closed. "I understand."

"It's going to be okay. You don't have to do anything. I'm going to do all the work. Okay?"

"When?"

"We're negotiating with Saldana, but it won't take long."

"Okay."

The guard came in with a flask of water and handed it to DiNozzo. He took it. "Take a drink, Tim."

McGee's hands were shaky and he fumbled with the flask. Tony took it from him, and raised it to his mouth, one hand supporting the back of his head. He looked up at the guards. "If anything happens to him, General Saldana will be very angry."

"Don't threaten us, American."

"Is there a doctor? He needs medical attention."

One guard looked to the other. "A doctor! At El Corazon! That is a good joke! The only professional here is the undertaker, you stupid American."

McGee pushed the flask away and looked at Tony. "Tom, I am okay. I don't need a doctor."

Tony could sense the warning in his tone, and he knew he was showing too much. "It's important that you stay healthy as you are part of our negotiations."

McGee nodded. "Thank you for your efforts, Mr. Hagen. I appreciate it. I would like to go home very much, but I want you to know something."

Tony focused on him. "I'm listening."

"If it doesn't happen, Mr. Hagen. I will understand."

"It will happen. I promise you it will."

McGee's chin trembled and he reached over, patting Tony's face. "I will understand."

…