Disclaimer : Still own nothing. Just having fun.
Author's Note : Many, many thanks to the alerts and readers so far. And I truly appreciate the reviews that you all have left. I've loved reading them.
To the guest who said 'oh my goodness' - I hope you meant the good kind!
Be aware in today's chapter, the Italics are a flashback into Tony's time undercover.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
4:09am – Residence of Tony DiNozzo – Judiciary Square – Washington, DC –
Tony waits on the cold cement of the pitch-dark Baltimore docks, clutching the Glock Carerras handed him on the way over for the job. Just on the other side of the river, the Baltimore city lights sparkle, reflecting like tiny jewels in the waters of the Patapsco. But with where he stands, it might as well be on the other side of the world. A soft breeze blows in off the river, filling his lungs with moist air.
He hears a low exhale near him. Sighing, he glances down at the man kneeling on the cement.
It takes him a few moments to remember exactly how he ended up on the docks like this. He was dead asleep when Carreras woke him, pulling him from his grimy apartment into the soggy, pre-dawn air. While he'd never been tapped for a job like this before, he didn't have to ask where they were headed. Carreras has a reputation for dealing with troublemakers in the dead of night, stealing predator and prey from their beds, handing off a weapon and a prisoner on the way to his own.
Tony turns the gun over in his hand, feeling the tiny divets on the unworn grip.
The weapon is brand new, its metal stock and fresh.
Carreras isn't one to take chances.
Tony hopes his partner got the message for a midnight witness transfer in time. While Carreras forces his hired help to take down their targets alone, he has another person inspect the work to ensure a complete job.
The cartel's own set of checks and balances.
"Can we just get this over with?" the thin man kneeling on the ground requests.
Tony runs his hand over his face, wondering how so many young men have shared the same turbulent journey as Curly Echeverria. Not satisfied with the comfortable income they earn dealing cocaine, they divert a shipment to sell on the side.
They always seem to think they will never get caught, yet the Patapsco claims them all.
"Why? You got somewhere to be?"
"If I say yeah, you gonna to let me go or what?"
When another cool breeze rolls off the water, Echeverria heaves. The splash of his dinner against the concrete turns Tony's stomach. He holds his hand to his face to ward off the smell and turns away.
Just under the lap of the dock water, he hears an approaching car.
He points his gun into the alleyway, grinning at the unmarked police car that emerges. Within seconds, a plainclothes detective climbs out. Tony grabs Echeverria's bound arms, yanking him to his feet. When he pushes the drug dealer into his partner's outstretched hands, they share a grin.
"You still good?" Danny Walden asks.
"Holy shit, you're a freaking cop?!" Echeverria gasps. "You've gotta be shitting me. Carreras is gonna -"
"Kill me when he finds out. Yeah, yeah, I know. Last guy told me that too," Tony says, shaking Danny's hand. "Cutting it a little close, don't you think?"
"Yeah, well, we're used to midnight rendez-vous, not these four am ones. Let's not make this a habit, okay?"
He shrugs, waving as Walden shoves Echeverria into the backseat of the cruiser.
"Well, thanks for stopping by," he grins, starting back to the docks to stage his murder scene.
Walden grips the passenger door, staring at Tony.
"You sure you're okay?"
He nods slowly, watching his partner climb into the car before it disappears back down the alley. While he doesn't enjoy lying to Danny, he just didn't have the time to confess that the lines between his undercover and true identity are beginning to blur.
If he tells him what's really going on, he'll be pulled off the case in a heartbeat…
Since he's the only undercover cop so far that hasn't needed an emergency extraction, he has to finish the operation.
Realizing he wastes time, Tony rushes to the edge of the dock. He fires two rounds into the river then allows it to swallow the gun as well. To stage his scene, he arranges a few metal drums and wood pallets to show the story of a desperate man who fought to stay alive.
When he is certain that his work looks convincing enough, Tony focuses on calming his racing heart. Every time he sneaks a witness into police custody, his body rebels with an onslaught of adrenaline mixed with abject terror. His hands have barely stopped shaking when the headlights of a black SUV retrace the police car's earlier path. He squints against the brightness as Carreras' second in command slithers out of the driver's seat. Fidel Ramos approaches Tony, clouded in the fog that billows off the Patapsco.
"Is it done?"
"Yeah, I took care of him. Didn't think Curly had it in him to put up a fight but…" Tony trails off, gesturing to the overturned barrels and the river.
"Carreras will be pleased."
Furious pounding echoes through his head as the night on the dock melts away. When Tony sits bolt upright in his bed, the first thing he notices is the sweat soaked in his sheets. With a trembling hand, he wipes at the trail that slides down his back. Blinking away the memories of his past-life, he checks the numbers that blaze on his alarm clock.
Realizing it's still the dead of night, he leans against the headboard. While he breathes slowly, he buries his face in his hands. The knocking on his door resumes but he doesn't move, figuring it's just one of his neighbor's drunken friends arriving for an impromptu party. No matter how many times he explains that 2E isn't 2F, they still seem to mistake his apartment for the college student's who lives across the hall. While he doesn't usually mind being roused in the middle of night by beautiful women, he prefers that it lead somewhere more than just a finger point in the opposite direction.
The knocking finally stops. Tony rests his head against his knees, surprised to find that his forehead is still slick, but his pulse finally slows.
The face of his phone lights up on his nightstand as the pounding starts again.
He reaches after it, swallowing hard when he sees Gibbs on the caller ID.
"DiNozzo," he answers, unnerved by the tremor in his voice.
"Open your damn door."
Not needing to be told twice, Tony makes it halfway across his bedroom before he realizes that Gibbs might prefer him clothed. He grabs a pair of boxers and lounge pants off the floor, pulls them on and rushes through his living room. When he sees his boss' angry face through the peephole, Tony tenses and yanks open the door.
They stare at each other for several moments.
"You gonna invite me in or what?"
"Oh yeah, sure. Come on in, Boss." He steps out of the way and flicks on a light.
While Tony blinks away the last cobwebs of sleep, Gibbs slides into the living room, double-taking at the interior. His eyes scan the plush leather sofa to the piano in the corner to the mahogany bookshelves Tony had built specifically for his movie collection. When he meets Gibbs' gaze, Tony knows his home isn't quite what his boss expected.
He runs his hand through his damp hair, fairly certain that Gibbs isn't here to leer at his possessions.
"Uh, boss?"
"Anthony Masterson."
Tony's face pales and he back-tracks until he bumps into his sofa. "Boss, that was a long time ago…"
"McGee found a bank account registered to him. Got a whole lotta money stashed in the Caymans."
Gibbs flicks open a music box on the bookshelf. The tinny melody fills the apartment and Tony feels every note cut through him. He presses his hand against the sofa, gripping the leather until his knuckles ache. When the song ends, he realizes that he's holding his breath.
"Boss, that's not me. Okay, Anthony Masterson that is me. Well, it was me. I used that identity during an undercover operation years ago. But the account, the money, it's not mine. I had no idea, boss, I don't know what's -"
"Yeah, Tony, I know," Gibbs interrupts, facing his senior agent.
Tony sighs quietly, uncertain how he woke from one nightmare into another.
"You knew earlier about – "
"I didn't know anything. Well, maybe I did, but I wasn't sure," Tony says, running his foot along the grain of his floor. "Look, boss, I recognized the tattoos on the guy from the surveillance tape. They're from the Angel Caido, the same cartel that I went undercover with back in Baltimore. I thought…I thought it was just a coincidence."
"Rule 39."
"Yeah, but what are the odds? Why would they be in DC?"
"You tell me."
"Boss, I don't know. I didn't know about the bank account, and I don't know why they're here, I swear."
Tony raises his eyebrows when Gibbs heads into the kitchen, stopping at the sight of the stainless steel appliances and marble counters.
"Well, start simple. You know who could be behind the account?" Gibbs says, dropping to his knees so he can inspect the interior of a cabinet.
Tony frowns, sliding into a bar stool and leaning on the counter. The stone is freezing.
"It's a long story."
He listens to Gibbs rifle through the appliances that he never uses. When his boss finally emerges, he holds up a coffeemaker still in its box. He places it on the counter, and Tony doesn't have the heart to tell him that he can't even pronounce the brand name, let alone use the machine.
"Get started," Gibbs orders, gesturing at the container, "we've got all night."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
6:32am – Just Outside NCIS Headquarters - Washington, DC –
Climbing out of his Ford Taurus, FBI Special Agent Tobias Fornell stares at the NCIS building that lies at the heart of the Washington Navy Yard. Even though it's still dark, the first rays of the morning light are beginning to burn away the fog that ebbs off the Anacostia. A blustery wind pushes off the water, sending a shiver through him.
He's thankful the Hoover building isn't located anywhere near the river.
Ignoring the concrete walkway that leads to the entrance, he heads across the small patch of grass that separates the parking lot from the sidewalk. He pauses by the double glass doors, admiring the Yard's distinct lack of scenery. Even a few leafless trees would spruce up the lifeless slabs of concrete and brick.
He shakes his head, certain that whatever detours his morning commute can't be good. When his phone rang nearly an hour ago, he was still in bed. If he hadn't been waiting for a phone call from Emily during her trip abroad, he would've let his voicemail pick up. His first mistake had been answering without checking the caller ID. The second was actually engaging the man on the other end in conversation.
When Gibbs actually says 'please,' it must be important…that's if he really knows what the word means.
Fornell passes through the entrance, pausing at the security desk for a cursory ID check. After he enters his name and badge number onto the log, the bored-looking guard hands him a visitor's pass. He heads to the elevator, surprised to find Gibbs already waiting for him. A cup of coffee is pressed into his outstretched hand and the pair slips into the elevator.
When he samples his beverage, he spits the liquid into the cup and stares incredulously at Gibbs.
"Did you call me all the way down here to poison me, Jethro?"
Gibb smiles wryly, barely allowing the doors to close before he hits the emergency button. The tiny box shudders to a stop, its back-up lights flickering. Fornell studies his friend's tense features under the dim glow. If he didn't know any better, he might guess that Gibbs is nervous.
"So how's Emily?" Gibbs asks, launching into his normal pleasantries.
"Good. She's touring Italy with our ex-wife."
"Must be nice."
"Yeah, not that I'll ever find out…I already paid for one trip, not sure if I can afford another." Fornell frowns, desperation for caffeine triumphing as he hazards another sip of the vile beverage. "So, what's going on?"
An uneasy silence envelopes them while Gibbs stares at Fornell, trying to determine whether he can trust the FBI agent. While they share a congenial working relationship on cases, both men hold their teams and, occasionally, their agency's interests before their friendship. Even so, they would prefer each other on their sides during a crisis.
"Look, we both know you didn't call me down here to talk about Emily or she who won't be named."
"It's about DiNozzo."
"Ah, so how is DiNutso? What'd he do this time?"
"Have you heard anything about the Angel Caido cartel?"
"You want the short version or the long one?"
Gibbs checks his watch. "Let's keep it short."
"Well, some newbie detective in Baltimore got assigned a long-shot case to infiltrate the Angel Caido. Rumor has it, the kid got real close to the head of the cartel. Right before the state went to press charges, some hotshot gunning for a promotion turned the case federal. Unfortunately, he didn't dot his i's and cross his t's and the cartel's lawyer managed to get the charges dropped. Illegal searches and seizures. When the prosecutor tried to refile, the whole thing turned into a freaking circus. Witnesses went missing, evidence vanished…nobody knew what the hell was going on. The judge threw the whole damn case out, again. I thought everybody knew about that. One of the FBI's greatest screw-ups, right?"
Gibbs shrugs, and Fornell wonders how he can't recall the numerous newscasts about the investigation and the ill-fated trial. The snafu cost one agent his life and many others their careers.
"That it?" Gibbs asks, haunted eyes meeting Fornell's.
He runs his hands over his face, deciding not to keep his additional information from the only person he considers a friend. That kind of intel might earn him a favor sometime later…if he'll ever be able to convince Gibbs to let him collect.
"We caught some chatter lately that the Angel Caido is moving south to DC. We've been keeping an eye on the leader, Enrico Carreras, for years but he's still untouchable after those past crimes. There's been rumors that he's been branching out into other areas of the criminal underworld, but it's all word of mouth from unreliable witnesses. What's all this have to do with DiNozzo?"
"He was that cop."
"What cop?"
"The deep cover cop in Baltimore," Gibbs explains, leaning against the elevator wall.
Mimicking the stance, Fornell presses his free hand against his forehead. While Gibbs silently sips his coffee, Fornell glances at the ceiling.
"Okay, but why bring this up now?"
"Found a bank account with a whole lotta money that's linked to DiNozzo's undercover alias. He seems to think that Carreras is the only person who would do that."
"So you're saying a drug kingpin stole an undercover cop's identity for his newest business venture? Why the hell would he do that?" When Gibbs simply shrugs, Fornell's features tighten. "Okay, fine. Any idea what he might be into?"
"Got a dead girl with no ID that's been raped and beaten. What do you think?"
Fornell swallows audibly, leaning his head against the wall.
"I'll make some calls. Have McGee e-mail me your investigation so far."
Gibbs nods, releasing the emergency stop. When the elevator returns to the ground floor, he slams his foot against the doors to hold them open.
"Mind seeing what DiNozzo's alias has been up to as well?"
"Any particular reason?"
When Gibbs shrugs again, Fornell opts to chalk it up to that fabled gut of his.
"You just never know."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
7:41am – Bullpen – NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC –
Still unsettled by the previous night's event, Tim peers off the elevator to find the bullpen unoccupied. He heads to his desk, unsure how how he managed to get out of bed this morning. Despite his original fear that his discovery would keep him awake all night, he ended up sleeping more soundly that he had in months. Unfortunately, his brain had no chance to process the situation yet.
What am I supposed to say to Tony?
Even though he knows that Tony would never harbor a secret bank account, the simple fact that one associated with his face even exists leaves Tim uneasy. As he plops into his chair, he wonders how long it will take the director to find out. Once that happens, there's no telling what could come next.
Tim desperately wants to protect his co-workers, but he doesn't even know where to start.
Rubbing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes, he sighs. There has to be something he can do to shield his team from the fallout of his find. Not even Tony deserves to have his career ended like this. Despite the fact that he relentlessly torments him about everything, from his lack of dating skills to playing video games in his boxers to his love of Nutter Butters, Tim does occasionally look up to the man.
He glances at his computer, knowing all the information lingers on the cookies in his hard drive. All he has to do is scrub the history of the search from his machine.
I can't believe I'm about to destroy evidence.
He closes his eyes, forcing himself to act. While his computer boots up, he does a quick check to make sure the office is still deserted. Although he knows no one would question his work, just checking for potential snoopers comforts him. The more time he spends in the virtual world, covertly poking into forbidden databases and amassing information, the more paranoid he becomes about his activities in the real one.
Tim pops a flash drive into the USB slot, quickly downloading the information about Tony's alias onto it. With the evidence backed up, he removes all traces of the search from his hard disk.
Just as he finalizes the deletion with a reboot, Gibbs hustles into the bullpen, nodding his greeting at Tim. With his hands full of two coffee cups, the team leader places one on his desk so he can rummage through the drawers.
"Morning, boss. Where's - "
"Won't be in until later. Send that stuff you found about Masterson to Fornell. Find everything about that name you can."
"Boss? That bank account? Is it really..." He can't bear to finish his thought.
"Yes and no," Gibbs answers while Tim's brow furrows. "Some dirtbag stole his former undercover identity."
On his way out of the bullpen, Gibbs places the extra cup of coffee by Tim's keyboard. Surprised by the repeated uncharacteristic kindness, he feels the cold liquid when he grips the paper cup. He gags at the sugar-laden beverage that hits his tongue.
The drink finds its way into the trash since it wasn't meant for him anyway.