CHAPTER SEVEN
"Where could he be?" Ziva threw her pen down in frustration.
They were all frustrated. There had been no sign of McGee since he'd disappeared several hours ago. Without his phone, they couldn't track him. There had been no sightings of Yancy or Jenson.
"You really think Jenson is part of this?" Tony sat slumped at his desk, brow creased with concern.
"Abby said he was the reason McGee went to the restaurant to begin with. Dr. Jenson has not been to Lakeland since yesterday. It would seem he is involved in some way."
Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes. "And the phone Abby was tracking has disappeared. Jenson must have tossed or destroyed it. So we can't even track him."
"Have they decided whether or not to tell Admiral McGee his son is missing?"
"I dunno." Tony glanced up towards Director Vance's office. "Not sure the admiral would even care."
Ziva frowned. "Do you really believe that? I mean, if his own son is in true danger, do you not think he might be concerned?"
"Did he even call after Tim got blown up last spring?"
Ziva considered this. "You are right. Maybe he would not care." She glanced over at McGee's empty desk. "How very, very sad."
xxxx
"Hey there, son. C'mon wake up. That's it. Need you to open your eyes now. C'mon, that's it…"
The voice droned on and on. Why won't he shut up? Tim had no desire to wake up. He was happy where he was, in the dark, away from the pain.
"Nope, no sleeping! C'mon, open your eyes. Need to wake up…"
McGee groaned softly as his consciousness slowly began to resurface from the black depths.
"Here, you need a little water. Just a sip. C'mon."
Tim felt a plastic straw being inserted into his mouth and a small squirt of water bathed the bone dry membranes of his mouth. It was heaven. He greedily sucked at the straw.
"Whoa, whoa, hold on there son, take it easy!"
Tim's eyes fluttered open to meet the pale blue eyes an elderly man, his thatch of white hair surrounding his head like a halo.
Looks like Einstein, thought McGee distantly. "Who…" was all he managed to croak out.
The man smiled. It was a warm and comforting smile. Tim immediately felt safer. "I could be asking you the same thing, but I'm Dr. Timms. Used to be the doctor around these parts before I retired. The Dansby boys found you in a ditch while they were collecting cans. They figured best thing to do was load you in their truck and bring you here. Closest hospital is almost two hours away."
Tim closed his eyes while he tried to process this information. He was in a ditch? Well, seems the old man had kept his word, and they didn't kill him. He gave a soft chuckle, then gasped in pain, his eyes flying open. At least not outright.
"Careful there, young man. You got some pretty messed up ribs there. Looked like someone was using you for batting practice. Lucky you didn't end up with punctured lung. As it is, you're going to be in a lot of pain for some time to come."
Tim's entire body ached. He moved his hand and winced.
"Looks like you broke a coupla fingers while you were at it."
"Not…me…"
Dr. Timms gently lifted McGee's head and gave him some more water. McGee smiled his thanks.
"Now, you want to tell me who you are? You didn't have any ID on you. No cell phone or anything. Thought I'd wait to call the authorities until you woke up."
"I'm… a federal agent." Tim grimaced, every word evoked new pain. His head throbbed. "Tim McGee. Kidnapped."
Dr. Timm's bushy white eyebrows shot up. "Federal agent, eh? That would explain the gun holster. Guess you know the gun is gone. And kidnapped to boot. So, you FBI? CIA?"
Tim didn't want to talk any more. He wanted to go back to sleep. He felt like an idiot. He should never have gone out on his own. You never go without backup. He deserved what he got. Gibbs would tear him a new one for being so stupid. And god, what would his father think? He wanted this all to go away. His eyes slid shut once more.
"No, no sleeping! You got a goose egg on the back of your head. Took a few stitches to close it up."
Tim struggled to push his lids open. He was in a small, tidy bedroom, the walls covered with numerous framed photographs. A small bedside lamp provided the room with a comforting glow. The doctor, clad in a pajamas and robe, was watching him carefully.
"Somebody must be looking for you, right? You want me to call someone for you?"
Tim considered this. Really, it would be better if he called Gibbs himself. "Thanks…but I better call."
Timm's eyebrows came together like one bushy caterpillar. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. You've had a pretty rough time."
"No, I'll be fine." Gritting his teeth, Tim began to painfully lever himself up biting back cries. Seeing McGee's determination, Timms gently helped him into a sitting position, carefully positioning pillows behind him. By the time they were done, Tim was bathed in a cold sweat, gasping for air.
"I have some painkillers I can give you, but I didn't want to give you anything until you'd had a chance to wake up. They'll probably knock you back out."
Tim gave him a strained smile. "I'm okay. I just need a phone."
Dr. Timms still looked doubtful, but handed him a cell phone anyway. "You can use this."
Tim took a couple of shallow breaths to steady himself, then dialed Gibbs' number, dreading what was to come.
xxxx
Gibbs carefully ran the plane across the surface of the warm honey maple grain of the board. The familiar smell of sawdust and whiskey were comforting. It had been twelve hours since McGee had disappeared without a trace. Gibbs couldn't sleep, his brain relentlessly churning.
He and Vance had had a long conversation about whether or not to tell Admiral McGee his son was missing. They finally agreed to wait until morning. Maybe Tim would turn up safe and sound. Gibbs wasn't convinced the admiral would even care.
Gibbs glanced at the old clock up on the wall. It was three in the morning. Where are you McGee?
As if in response to his silent plea, his cell phone's shrill call echoed through the cool basement. Immediately, he snatched it up and stared at the number. He didn't recognize it, but it was a Virginia number. He flipped it open.
"Gibbs."
"Boss? It's me, McGee."
Gibbs immediately relaxed, the tension flowing from his neck and shoulders. McGee was still alive.
"McGee, where are you? Are you all right? What the hell happened to you?"
There was pause before McGee spoke. Gibbs immediately picked up on the strain in McGee's voice. Something was wrong.
"I'm okay, Boss. Really. Two guys, Yancy and his assistant, Jenson I think, were doing something to Dad's car." There was another pause. McGee's voice sounded choked. "They…they okay? Tony…Ziva…my dad?"
"They're fine, Tim. Everybody's just fine. The bomb wasn't hooked up properly to its timer. It never went off. I think you must have interrupted them. But where are you? Are you all right?"
Gibbs could hear Tim speaking to someone else in the distance. Friend or foe? Then McGee came back on.
"I'm outside Flint Hill, Virginia. I'm with a local doctor, Dr. Timms."
"You hurt?" asked Gibbs sharply. McGee had repeatedly avoided answering this question.
"I'll be fine. Just bruised some. Nothing serious."
Gibbs's eyes narrowed. McGee was a terrible liar and the strain in his voice belied the offhand way he answered the question.
"All right. I'm coming to get you. I need directions. Let me talk to this Dr. Timms."
Again Gibbs could hear McGee's muffled words as he spoke to the other person. Finally an elderly man came on.
"Hello?"
"This Dr. Timms?"
"Yes, Agent Gibbs, is it? This young man says you need instructions on how to find my home."
"That's right." The doctor's voice reminded Gibbs of his own father's and he instinctively knew he could trust this man. "However, he won't give me a straight answer. I just need to know, is he injured?"
Gibbs heard the man hesitate before answering. "Yes."
"It is serious?"
Again the hesitation. Gibbs was sure Timms didn't want McGee to know what he was talking about. "Not necessarily."
Gibbs felt a moment of relief. Tim was hurt, but should be okay. He'd get the full story once he got out there. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. "Okay, shoot." He quickly wrote down the instructions, read them back to Timms, then asked to speak to McGee once more.
"Tim, are you sure you're safe there?" Gibbs didn't know what he could do if McGee wasn't, but he had to be sure.
"Yeah, Boss. If Yancy and Jenson wanted me dead, they would have killed me while they had me. I'll be fine. Listen, you don't have to drive all the way out here. I…I could probably rent a car someplace…"
Gibbs heard Dr. Timms protesting in the background and smiled. Obviously, this doctor wasn't going to let Tim go gallivanting off by himself.
"McGee. You stay put. That's an order. I'm on my way. Should be there in a couple of hours. You better be there when I get there."
"Yes sir, uh, Boss."
Satisfied he had McGee sufficiently cowed, he broke the connection. Gibbs took a deep breath and released it. Thank god, Tim was alive and apparently safe. The doctor said he was injured, but obviously not mortally. Well, the sooner he got out there and picked up his errant agent the better. On the way, he'd call the others and let them know McGee was all right. At least until Gibbs got ahold of him.
xxxxx
McGee slowly handed the phone back to Dr. Timms. Damn. He couldn't let Gibbs see how injured he was. He'd take him off the case and he'd lose any chance he had of showing his father he wasn't a total screw-up, although he hadn't been doing such a bang up job so far.
"You need to rest before your boss gets here." Timms tilted his head, studying McGee. "He's worried about you."
Tim grunted and grimaced. "I need to get up, move around. He can't see me like this."
Timms bushy eyebrows crawled upwards. It was like they had a mind of their own. "Uh you think he might not notice you're hurt? Every move you make screams pain."
"I don't care," snapped Tim turning to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Someone is trying to kill my father. If Gibbs sees me like this, he'll think I'm too injured to work, and he'll throw me off the case. I can't let that happen!"
Dr. Timms' expression softened. "I see. I really do, but do you think you're going to help anyone in your present condition? Your daddy wouldn't want to see you in pain."
Tim gritted his teeth. His father wouldn't give a rat's ass. But if he gave in to the pain and sat on the sidelines, the admiral would just say Tim had proven his point, that his son was weak and completely unable to take care of himself. But, he wanted Timms' sympathy and help.
"Listen, most of my work is done at a computer. I hardly ever go out into the field. In fact, I wasn't even supposed to be where I was when all this happened. Believe me, Gibbs isn't going to let leave me desk for the next six months. I can work from there with a few cracked ribs, right?" Tim tried to act as if his injuries were minor inconveniences, although in reality, he'd rather be pumped full of painkillers and spend the next few weeks in a drugged-up oblivion.
Timms' looked doubtful. "Well, sure I can tell your boss that as long as you stay at your desk, it would probably be okay, but look at you. You're white as a sheet, shaking all over, and you look like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. You're not fooling anyone."
Tim wiped the sweat from his brow. His breath came in short, painful gasps. Weakly he slammed his fist on the bed. The doctor was right. Tim knew if he stood, he'd probably pass out. Just sitting up was making the room spin and his head pounded like a jackhammer. He cursed softly.
"C'mon son," the doctor gently guided him back into a prone position. "You need to rest. You're still in shock and don't need to push yourself. Your Agent Gibbs is on his way. No use worrying about the future right now."
Tim stared up at the ceiling, acutely aware of every ache and pain. His right hand throbbed . Suddenly an image of someone carefully breaking each finger shot through his mind. He gasped, his heart racing.
"Hey, hey, calm down, Tim, it's okay."
He could hear the old doctor's comforting voice, but it was distant and disappearing in the red haze of fear and agony. All Tim could hear was the snap of his bones, one by one. His entire body started to shake. He cried out. "No! Please!"
A sharp pinch caused him a moment's distraction. He turned his pain-filled gaze to the doctor who was just pulling away, a small hypodermic in his hand.
"I didn't want to give you anything for a while, but I think perhaps it's worth the risk. This will help with the pain and let you sleep." Dr. Timms pulled the covers up to McGee's shoulders and using a small cloth, wiped the cold sweat from the younger man's face.
Tim wanted to thank him, but he couldn't find the words. The world began to recede and soon he found himself embraced in the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.