CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"All right," began Gibbs. "There will be a lot of security at this event. We're just one small part of it."
McGee and his team gathered around Gibbs and the diagram of the hotel where the banquet was being held to honor Medal of Honor recipients.
"You guys are assigned to this area outside the ballroom." Gibbs pointed to a large foyer. "Tony, you'll be on the east door. Ziva, you'll be near this exit to the kitchen area and McGee, I want you near this exit that leads to the parking garage. Like I said, there will plenty of other security all over the place. I'm coordinating the NCIS contingent."
McGee studied the diagram carefully and nodded. Looked pretty straightforward. Absently, he squeezed the exercise ball in his right hand. The splints had been removed from his broken fingers, and he was working hard to build up the strength in his hand. Good thing he was left handed.
Gibbs handed each their earwig communicators. "Stay in touch. If you see anything suspicious, sing out. Everyone has been alerted to possible danger Dr Jenson presents, but frankly, I doubt he'll show up here. Too much security. However, we still need to be alert."
McGee bit his lip. His stomach was tight. No matter how reassuring Gibbs was about the amount of security there would be at this event, McGee still felt something was wrong.
Several hours later, Tim wove his way through the crowds of dress uniforms. They were everywhere. He kept peering through the mass of bodies looking for Jenson. No one else might think he was going to show up, but this was one time Tim was going to trust his own gut.
Tim craned his neck trying to get a better view. He was pretty tall, but there were a lot of men taller than he in this crowd. He squinted across the ballroom and immediately felt that all too familiar drop in his stomach. Even in a room full of decorated military, his dad stood out. Frozen, Tim couldn't help but watch as his father proudly introduced Lt. Owens to several other officers. He felt a tug at his heart. He'd never seen his father give him that look. Suddenly, his father raised his eyes and with a jolt of electricity, Tim felt their gazes connect. His father stared at him for just a moment then turned away, placing his hand on Owens' shoulder. Tim watched for an instant longer, then with a deep sigh returned to his duty.
The night was long and boring for the most part. More than once McGee heard Gibbs over his earpiece admonish DiNozzo for commenting on some of the attractive young women at the event. Tim smiled. No, Tony would never change. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Yet, despite the seemingly peaceful atmosphere of the event, Tim couldn't relax.
It was just after nine when the first explosion hit.
McGee's head snapped up as he desperately searched for the location. Other agents could be heard chattering in his ear. Was it a bomb? Smoke poured down one of the hallways leading to the foyer.
Confused voices could be heard coming from the ballroom. The doors burst open and a crowd of people burst through the doors. To their credit, the people weren't panicking, but there was a certain level of fear and desperation to get away. Police sirens could be heard in the background. Loud voices directed attendees to the nearest exits.
The second explosion came five minutes after the first. This time McGee saw the door to the kitchen explode outwards. His face burned as flying debris pelted him. Screams could be heard in the kitchen beyond. His first impulse was to run over and see if he could help. Where was Ziva? He heard her voice over his earwig calmly assessing the situation. He relaxed slightly. Coughing and groping through the dense smoke, he stumbled into someone. Grabbing onto a soft leather jacket to steady himself, McGee gasped as he came face to face with Myron Jenson.
Jenson's eyes widened, then cursing, he whirled and shoving McGee backwards, he fled back towards the parking garage. This time, however, McGee was not going to be so easily deterred. He quickly regained his feet and took off after Jenson.
"Tony! Ziva! Can you read me? Jenson is here. Heading for the garage. I'm in pursuit." There was no response. Tim could only hope that someone had gotten the message. This man was here to kill his father and had possibly killed other innocent people in the hotel. He'd be damned if he would allow Jenson to escape again.
McGee burst out into the garage and ducked low, his eyes swiftly scanning the area. He choked back a coughing fit. Thankfully the air was clear out here. At the moment, there didn't appear to be any other people. Security would have steered everyone out of the building. But Jenson was here somewhere.
McGee hurried along the aisle of the parking garage then down to the next level, his gun drawn and ready. He heard a noise from the level above, but a sudden movement caught his eye on the level below. He froze, gun ready. He peered through the gloom of the parking garage and caught of glimpse of a black leather jacket. Jenson. He was stealthily moving up the ramp in the direction of McGee, perhaps hoping to double back and ambush him. Tim just needed to lie in wait and he'd have him. Then maybe his father would see he wasn't a total waste as a human being.
Tim crept forward, his mouth dry but his gun was steady. He knew his business and would do what was needed. Jenson continued to creep forward. Tim didn't have a clean shot yet. Suddenly, the garage access door behind him opened.
"What the hell is going on here? Tim? Shouldn't you be back safe and sound at NCIS playing with your computers or whatever damn thing it is you do?"
"Dad!" Tim whirled, his heart thudding. The admiral and Lt. Owens stood just inside the garage. Out of the corner of his eye McGee spotted Jenson emerge from around the silver car at the end of the row, his gun pointing directly at the Admiral.
"No!" Tim dashed forward, firing his own weapon as Jenson fired his. The shots echoed as one through the garage. Tim slammed into the admiral, barely registering the pain in his still-healing ribs. He stumbled but picked himself up just in time to see Tony and Ziva appear from around the corner from the next level up, their guns drawn.
Wildly, Tim looked around, trying to spot Jenson.
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing, you idiot?" Tim spun around to face his father. The admiral's face was livid as Owen's helped him to his feet. "Shooting at goddam shadows? You could have killed someone! God, what the hell do they teach you at NCIS?"
Tim's face burned, his head whirling in confusion. "Wha..! But…Jenson! Dad, Jenson was right there! He was the one that set off the bombs. I'm sure of it." He pointed towards the silver car, but there was nothing to be seen. Tony and Ziva exchanged glances and hurried off the way Tim had pointed.
"Really." Sarcasm dripped from the admiral's words. "Where? What, is he like all those imaginary friends you had when you were little? You damn well couldn't find real ones." He turned to Owens. "You see anyone, Jason?"
Owens' face had now resumed its usual smug expression. "No sir. No one besides Agent McGee. I suspect he jumped at a shadow, as you said."
The admiral grunted in agreement.
Tim's shook his head. He was not going to give up. "But he set the bombs. Didn't you see the bombs?"
The admiral turned back to his son. "Tim, it's already been discovered the bombs were small, more for sound and smoke than anything. Other than some minor injuries from flying debris, no one was hurt. "
It was like Tim's brain was full of fog. "But, he was here. He was trying to kill you! He…he must have set off those bombs to create confusion so he could get to you. Dad, the threat is real!"
Admiral McGee gave his son a hard stare. "And you were going to single handedly bring him in yourself, is that it? Frankly, I think you were just trying to show me what a big, brave NCIS agent you've become. Well, I'm not buying it. You're useless and always have been. Come on, Owens." He turned away and stiffly strode down the row towards his own car where Gibbs now stood. Owens followed in his wake giving Tim a last triumphant look. McGee simply watched them go, his shoulders slumped in defeat. What had just happened?
Admiral McGee pulled to a halt inches from Gibbs who glared furiously at the admiral.
"Get out of my way, Gibbs. I'm going home. Take my idiot son and put him back in front of a computer where he belongs, but first I suggest you take that gun away from him before he shoots himself in the foot."
Tim closed his eyes, every scathing word his father uttered a stab to his heart. He knew Jenson had been there. He'd seen him clear as day. Dammit, he'd fired at him! Fatigue suddenly weighed him down. He shivered. His ribs ached. When did it get so cold in here? The smell of old exhaust and rubber overladen with the acrid odor of gun powder was so sharp. He opened his eyes and felt a wave of nausea as the garage seemed to whirl around him. God, was he really the coward his father believed him to be? He reached inside his jacket to rub his painful rib then gasped as sharp stab of pain speared his chest. Snatching out his hand, McGee stared blankly at the warm red liquid staining his fingers. Slowly he lifted the front of his jacket, his eyes widening as a pool of dark crimson spread across the snowy surface of his shirt. Feeling oddly detached, Tim simply watched as the ever growing tendrils of blood snaked their way across his chest. It was like Yancy all over again. He barely registered the angry sounds of Gibbs and his father's conversation.
Gibbs faced the admiral, his own jaw clenched with fury. He'd about had it with this tin pot admiral. For Tim's sake, he'd held back from telling Admiral McGee what he really thought of him. But this was the last straw.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but your son is not the moron here. You are. What the hell are you doing out here in this garage? Everyone was ordered to stay out front. Coming out here alone left you unprotected."
The admiral waved his hand in dismissal then glanced over at his son, who remained standing near the door. "If that is an example of protection, I'd be better off with a troop of boy scouts armed with bows and arrows. Owens here is worth twenty of your agents. Anyway, I came out here to avoid the chaos. You and I both know this place will be a madhouse shortly. The banquet's cancelled, and there's no further reason for me to stay."
The admiral rubbed his shoulder where he'd hit the ground and regarded Gibbs with his iron gaze.
"I've read your file, Gibbs. Impressive. I can't believe you're wasting your time in NCIS. I really can't believe you're wasting your time working with so-called agents like my son. You need more men like Jason, here. But men like him, brave men who are willing to give their lives for their country, are smart enough not to get involved with something as sloppy as NCIS."
Gibbs' fist slowly clenched. He took a step forward, his narrowed eyes flashing. "My agents have put their lives on the line probably more often than you or your lieutenant here, Admiral. That includes Tim."
The admiral and Owens exchanged skeptical glances. "I wish I could believe that, Gibbs," snorted Admiral McGee, "but I know what I see. Shooting at shadows does not impress me. Leading killers right to their target doesn't either. Perhaps you should train your agents how to tell the difference between a real assailant and an imaginary one."
"Admiral McGee, if Tim says he saw someone, then I believe him. Maybe you should spend less time feeling sorry for yourself that your gifted son chose a different path than yours. Maybe you should respect the choices he's made for himself. And he's made some damn good ones. Unlike you."
Admiral McGee's face became very still, his eyes narrowed into slits. "What the hell do you know about it, Gibbs? You got a son? One that has proved to be nothing but an embarrassment his whole life? Yeah, I know Tim is smart. Maybe too smart for his own good. He could have done anything with his life. But what does he do? He joins some wannabe police agency that can't figure out if it's the CIA, FBI, or Homeland security! Shit, any of those would have been preferable to NCIS. At least people have heard of those! Tim obviously doesn't think he needs me. He certainly never listened to anything I ever said." He put a possessive hand on Owens' shoulder. "And to be honest, I don't really need him." The admiral shook his head as he glanced back at Tim, disgust evident in his hard face. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no son."
Nearby, Tim slowly lifted his head at his father's words. They rang in his ears. All the strength drained from him like water through a sieve. His knees buckled. "Dad…" Suddenly, he didn't care anymore and let the world fade away.
Gibbs's gaze turned away from the admiral just in time to see McGee collapse to the ground. Roughly, he shoved the admiral and Owens out of his way and sprinted to the side of his fallen agent. McGee lay on his side, his face turned toward the cold cement.
"Tim?" Carefully Gibbs rolled McGee over on his side and took a sharp breath. A small pool of blood had already collected beneath the wounded man. He stared at Tim's blood sodden shirt then quickly yanked off his own jacket and placed it over the pulsing wound. He glanced back at the admiral who now stood behind him, his face white, mouth agape. "Call 911!"
Ziva appeared at Gibb's side, pulled out her phone and began to punch the buttons. Tony followed a moment later roughly dragging a sullen looking man clad in a distinctive black leather jacket. Jenson's arms were cuffed tightly behind him and blood dripped freely from a wound along the side of his head.
Tony immediately took in the situation, his stomach clenching. He'd seen this happen too many times before. Too many good agents killed in the line of duty. But Tim had gone down protecting this ungrateful asshole. Tony didn't care if he was a decorated admiral and McGee's father. He shoved the dazed Jenson forward.
"Here's your imaginary assailant, Admiral. I hope you appreciate the fact that your cowardly son just took an "imaginary" bullet for you. Believe me, I would rather it were you laying there. Not him."
Admiral McGee continued to stand frozen in place, as if unable to register the scene before him. He barely glanced at Tony.
"C'mon, Tim," Gibbs breathed, his jacket already soaked with McGee's blood. "Don't you give up, you hear me! You stay with me. That's an order." He glanced up to see the admiral still hovering silently behind him.
"Is this what a coward looks like, Admiral?" Gibbs' voice was hard, cold, and unforgiving. "If he dies, then the last words he ever heard were those of his own father disowning him. I hope that makes you happy." In the distance, they could hear the sound of sirens.
In moments, the paramedics arrived pushing everyone out of the way. It wasn't long before they had an IV going and were loading McGee into the ambulance. Gibbs began to climb in after them.
"Hold on, Gibbs." These were the first words the admiral had spoken since Tim's collapse. "He's my son, I'm going."
Gibbs simply stared at him a long moment. "If I recall admiral, you have no son."
The admiral stepped back as if he'd been slapped and watched white-faced as the second paramedic slammed shut the doors and climbed into the driver's seat. With sirens blaring, they were gone.
Tony and Ziva exchanged worried glances. Furiously, Tony yanked the prisoner by the arm. "C'mon Jenson. Let's go."
Ziva paused and turned to the admiral. "Admiral McGee. I know something about difficult relationships between fathers and their children. I hope you will find a way to make peace with your son. Although it may already be too late."
For the first time, the admiral's face registered his pain. "Thank you, Agent David. I…I better go." His voice shook. Admiral McGee stumbled back to his car where Owens still waited. Head low, the admiral paused for a long moment before finally sliding into the back seat. Owens glanced at Tony and Ziva as they hurried past with their prisoner. He almost looked shamefaced. But not quite. He climbed into the driver's seat and then he and the admiral were gone.
Ziva sighed and watched the taillights disappear. She said a silent prayer for McGee. And his father.
xxx
A/N: An anonymous reviewer made the comment that he/she felt people often wrote McGee as being weak. I don't really think of him being weak in this story as much as being a victim of his upbringing. Many very competent people fall into old familiar patterns when confronted by family members. In this case, I feel McGee spent all his life trying to impress his domineering father. When his father isn't around, he can handle himself with no problem. But his father's presence brings out McGee's old insecurities and fears. Thus, he ends up trying too hard and doubting his abilities. He reverts back to his earlier incarnation that we met in the early seasons. At least, that's how I look at it! Again, thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the support.