Disclaimer : Still own nothing. Just having fun.
Author's Note : Thanks to all the readers, favoriters and followers out there. Many, many thanks for those of you who take the time to leave a review. I do love seeing what you think.
Enjoy the newest chapter.
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4:22pm – Somewhere Near the Navy Yard – Washington, DC –
Kneeling by the limited resources of the holding room, Tim carefully examines the items at his disposal : eight sleeping bags, five empty pizza boxes, six battery operated lanterns and his trench coat. He had a few slices of stale pizza, but he isn't sure that they would've been much help anyway. Under the watchful stares of four girls, he runs his hand over his chin, trying to make a weapon out of pliable cardboard and fabric.
While he shakes his head at their predicament, Ksenia abandons her anxious vigil by the door, pushing her way through the group to Tim's side. She drops into a crouch, taking his arm as she studies the objects. Her icy grip leaves after a few seconds. She pulls his coat towards her, placing the three closest lanterns inside. When she folds the edges up, the cloth swallows the light, plunging the room deeper into darkness.
Their tense eyes meet and she allows him to take the newly formed weapon from her hands. The girls slide out of his way so he can take a few practice swings. Even though it's bulky and awkward, Tim figures it's their best chance at freedom if Carreras' men return. When he places his trench on the ground, one of the lanterns rolls loose, its dull glow skittering over the rough concrete. Tim inhales slowly, a failed attempt to calm his racing heart.
I really hope Tony comes first.
Ignoring the tremble in his fingers, Tim shoves the lantern back into his coat. Weapon in hand, he joins Ksenia by the door. With her ear pressed deeply against it, her lips are in a tight line.
"When the door opens," he says, acting out the words. "I fight. You guys run."
Her brow furrows for several long moments, then she nods grimly. When she relays something to the girls in their native tongue, Tim hopes that nothing's lost in translation. A collective head bob from the seven others indicate some sort of understanding.
"Get out and find Gibbs," he continues, addressing the group.
"Geebbs?" Ksenia repeats, furrow deepening on her brow.
"Out." Tim gestures to the door and she nods. "Find a cop, then find Gibbs. He'll help you."
Confusion still evident on her face, she rambles uncertainly to the other girls. It takes a few tries before they begin to test their pronunciation of his boss' name. While none of them can say it correctly, Tim figures they're close enough to be understood.
I really hope someone on Metro speaks Russian.
The chorus of 'Geebbs' continues for several moments until Ksenia murmurs something quietly. When the room plummets into a tense silence, she leans her ear to the door; the terrified look in her eyes tells Tim that someone's coming. He herds her to the back of the room with the rest of the girls. His gut churns as he hoists the lantern-laden coat over his shoulder.
When the locks disengage, the click of each deadbolt resounding through the room, Tim slides just out of view.
If this doesn't work...
The door opens, allowing a triangle of bright light to trespass into the prison. Two shadows appear, looking like faceless monsters.
" – bad idea, Hector."
One of the girls lets out a strangled cry.
"Come on, Marino, we need somethin' to do. Carreras took my phone and everything on TV sucks ass. What else we supposed to do, man? We ain't allowed to go out neither. I'm getting' bored, ain't you?"
"Yeah," the other man admits, sounding closer.
Tim licks the perspiration from his upper lip, muscles tensing to launch his strike.
"Where's that fed?"
Right on cue, Tim swings his jacket at the tall, stocky Hispanic man heading past his hiding spot. When it slams into his face, Marino topples to the ground. As the man from the taqueria appears in the same place, Tim hits Hector squarely in the chest. Retaliating, Hector body-slams the agent and sends him flailing backwards. Stumbling as he tries to regain his footing, Tim swings his weapon at random.
Noticing the girls haven't moved from their position by the back wall, he points towards the door.
"Run!"
It takes Ksenia's scream, an almost feral shriek, to spur them forward. When Tim kicks Marino squarely in the chest, the thug catches his foot, twisting him off balance. Only a second later, Tim finds himself staring at the stars that swarm on the ceiling. He lunges at Marino's legs, dragging him down as the thug scrambles for the door. Tim rushes towards Hector, but a hand around his ankle trips him, sending him to the ground again. Marino grabs Tim's right arm, twisting it roughly into the middle of his back.
When he hears the excited chatter from the girls, Tim figures that they didn't make it.
"There's only five here. Where's the other three?" Hector asks.
Marino swallows audibly. "Shit, Carreras is gonna kill us."
"Not if we stop them before he finds out!"
When Marino releases his hold, Tim rolls to land another strike. He doesn't see the kick coming, but feels the pop that burns like fire in his right shoulder. By the time he blinks away the blackness, the door slams, the locks clicking into place. He inhales deliberately, forcing himself to his knees and curls his right arm protectively to his chest. Pressing his lips together, he stares helplessly at the crestfallen faces of the five girls who weren't lucky enough to escape.
Ksenia isn't one of them.
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4:57pm –Near Buzzard Point – Southwest, Washington, DC –
Metro Patrol Officer Hailey Johnson leans back against the passenger seat, gazing out the cruiser window at the abandoned industrial buildings that line the road. Her partner, Derek Bowser, keeps his eyes steady ahead. While their presence in this community is a mere formality, Hailey still watches the sidewalk for any activity like they're supposed to…even if Derek doesn't. Only the quiet crackle of their radio occasionally breaks the silence.
The minutes tick as slowly as the miles climb on the odometer.
"You see something?" Derek asks, speaking for the first time since lunch.
"Not yet." She makes a face at the deserted sidewalk. "Any plans for the weekend?"
When he doesn't respond, she shakes her head. Not one for idle conversation (or any for that matter), Derek limits their interactions to work only. She remembers how much she used to enjoy this job, back on the beat when she was a part of the community. When she got the promotion to the patrol car, she'd been excited at the new possibilities. Sometimes, she can hardly believe that Derek's been sucking the joy out of her workday for only a few months now.
Hailey glances over at him, letting her eyes linger on his serious features. When he doesn't even look at her, she turns back to the world outside. The familiar, austere buildings of the Southwest's old manufacturing district blend together into a bland mélange of forgotten industry.
As Derek hangs a left towards Buzzard Point, the computer screen on the cruiser's dashboard flashes. Hailey quickly reads the order : a BOLO for a federal agent beside a picture of a young, round-faced man.
"What'd we get?" he asks.
"Just that we need to keep our eyes peeled for a fed," she replies, still studying the image.
"What'd he do?"
"It doesn't say."
His curt nod ends the conversation as the cruiser stops at a red light at an empty intersection. Derek lets out an irritated exhale, and Hailey looks back out her window, spotting a thin girl with matted blonde hair heading up the street. The girl waves frantically them as the light turns green. He hits the gas.
"Derek!"
"What?" He glances through her window just as the girl's form disappears behind a building.
"Someone's back there."
Derek's face scrunches, and he pulls the cruiser into a tight U-turn. Before they even hit the cross street, Hailey spots the girl's figure leaned against the brick exterior.
"Where the hell did she come from?" Derek mutters, watching as Hailey rolls down her window.
"You okay, honey?" she calls.
As the girl rushes to the cruiser, Hailey's surprised that she wears only a breezy sundress to combat the unseasonably cool fall day. She settles by the car window, her deep set eyes darting between the police officers. While she appeared thin from afar, up close the girl looks down right malnourished.
"Are you okay?" Hailey repeats.
The girl stares back blankly.
"Yeah, is everything alright?" Derek asks, his voice booming.
When the girl readies to bolt, Hailey grabsher thin arm through the car window. She winces at the feeling of the girl's bone underneath her frozen skin.
"Give us a minute, Derek?" He begins to protest, but she points out of the car. "Give us a minute or I'll tell the brass you let your girlfriend drive the cruiser."
He shoots her a vicious glare before sliding out. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he storms across the street.
Once she feels the girl relax under her grip, Hailey opens the door, moving to the driver's side to make space. As the girl climbs in, Hailey shrugs off her uniform jacket.
When the girl wraps it tightly around her body, her lips pull into a thankful smile.
"Are you okay?" There's another blank look on the girl's face. "Do you speak English?"
When the girl doesn't reply, Hailey sighs quietly, watching her stare at the buttons and controls on the dashboard. Before Hailey can think of what to try next, the girl grabs the computer screen. Her finger touches the picture of the kind-eyed federal agent.
"Maggeee Teem," she sighs before launching into an incomprehensible tirade.
Hailey checks the name on the BOLO : Timothy McGee.
"You've seen him?"
"Maggeee Teem," the girl repeats, shivering, adding, "Geeeebbbs."
Realizing she won't get anything else from the girl, Hailey rolls down the window.
"Derek! Let's go!"
She already has the car in gear by the time he hits the driver's door.
"Hailey, you're not driving."
"Come on, Derek, in the back." She has no intention of making the girl ride where suspects do.
"Johnson!"
"Get in or I really will tell the brass about Tammy and the cruiser."
He scowls, cursing under his breath, before he complies. Even though she knows she'll hear about this later, Hailey feels slightly victorious. She flicks on the sirens. Derek's face appears in the rearview mirror, distorted by the Plexiglas barricade.
"Seriously, how do you even know about that?"
"Not too hard when she keeps posting pictures on your MySpace page."
"I can't believe –" he starts, struggling to compose himself. "So who's she?"
"No clue, but she seems to know that fed from the BOLO."
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5:19pm – Don Julio's World Famous Tacos – Columbia Heights, Washington, DC –
Arms crossed tightly to his chest, Gibbs stands on the sidewalk out front of the taqueria. Waiting for the owner to arrive, he stares at the fluorescent yellow sign above the store. With the sunlight quickly fading, he shudders at the falling temperature in the wind that sweeps the trash over his feet. When he turns to check the empty street, he grinds his teeth.
Several feet away, Fornell flinches.
"Heard that, Jethro."
Gibbs shrugs distractedly, glaring back through the restaurant's front window. Squinting against the sun, he barely discerns a few red booths and a low counter that probably separates the eating area from the kitchen. Kicking a wayward candy wrapper from his shoe, he wishes he'd ordered Ziva to pick the door's lock when they arrived. But since the proprietor had promised to be over shortly, Gibbs sent her and Kenji to canvas the street instead.
Just as he's about to call them back, Gibbs hears the sound of labored breathing long before he sees the portly man lumbering up the street. Round face flushed with exertion, the man pauses in front of Gibbs, doubling over as he wheezes.
Fornell raises his eyebrows at Gibbs.
"Don Julio?" Fornell asks.
"Freddie Goldstein." The man runs his hand over his shiny head, then offers it to the agents. Neither of them shakes it. "Youse the feds?"
"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," he says, showing his badge. "That's Special Agent Fornell, FBI."
"NCIS? What the hell's that?"
Gibbs chooses to ignore both the question and the snort from Fornell. While Goldstein pulls a key ring from his pocket, flipping through them until he finds the appropriate one, Fornell points to the fluorescent yellow sign over the store.
"So who's Don Julio?"
"The name that sells the tacos. Freddie Goldstein can't sell shit in this neighborhood," he says, leading the agents into the restaurant.
Before they're even over the threshold, the scent of burnt meat assaults Gibbs' nostrils. He takes in the yellowed walls, covered with flags from several Latin American countries that offset the red booths. At the end of the long wood counter, an archaic cash register has been shoved up in a corner.
"You run this place?" Fornell asks.
"Not really. I'm not around much," Goldstein admits. "I actually got lost on the way here, which is why I was late. Own a couple food places in DC. This one sorta runs itself. I check in sometimes, but I really just monitor the bank account. Make sure no one's skimmin' money offa me."
"Okay," Gibbs replies, surveying the interior.
"You guys need me to stay? Or do you think you can just lock up when you leave?"
"We'll lock up when we're done. Do you mind if we look around?" Gibbs offers.
"Do whatever the hell you need to. Light switch is in the corner, turns 'em all on. Jimmy the door when you leave so it'll lock. My phone's on. Just don't touch the cash in the register," Goldstein says, eyeing the agents suspiciously for a brief second before he leaves.
"If only they were all this easy," Fornell laughs, crossing the room to hit the switch.
The fluorescent light buzzes on, its harshness chasing away the sun. Gibbs nods as he slips around the counter into the kitchen, making a face at the piles of dirty dishes and greasy pots strewn across the counters. When he moves deeper into the cooking area, he finds a pot full of meat on the stove, completely blackened. He presses his fingers to it.
"Still warm. Must've left in a hurry," he surmises.
"Maybe they just like their food Cajun," Fornell offers with a tight grin.
Gibbs leads the way as they finish searching the kitchen. By the time they reach what appears to be an office, they've cleared a storage pantry and a walk-in freezer, both nearly empty. When they enter the stark room and he sees the desk, a familiar clench starts in Gibbs' gut.
His phone blares, breaking his concentration.
"Yeah, Gibbs."
"We have uncovered something. Where are you and Fornell?" Ziva's voice answers.
"Don Julio's. Back office, front door's open."
Not waiting for a confirmation, Gibbs slams the phone closed and slides it into his pocket. Fornell already has his gloves on to push through the pile of papers on the desk. Even though the look on his face shows there's nothing here, he crouches to dig through the drawers anyway.
Gibbs inhales deeply, shuddering at the sudden scent of garbage. Ziva is standing in the doorway, and Kenji peeks over her shoulder. Hair slicked against his head and mysterious stains coating his NCIS jacket, his features are tight in disgust.
I don't want to know.
Kenji holds out an evidence bag that contains a cell phone, covered in the same mystery goo as him.
"We found it in the dumpster out back," Ziva reports.
"She made me go in after it," he pouts, leaving an orange smear on his cheek as he touches his face.
Holding his breath to ward off the noxious smell wafting from the TAD, Gibbs pulls out his phone and dials the number for Tony's cover. When the screen on the phone in Kenji's hand lights up, Gibbs lets out a growl. The probationary agent takes a full step back.
"Jethro, found something," Fornell calls, popping up from behind the desk. His features are grim as he holds up a brown leather wallet. Before he even has to ask, it lands in Gibbs' hand and he opens the worn trifold to find Tim's driver's license inside. He slides it into an evidence bag, almost missing the concerned glance Kenji and Ziva share.
"Is it McGee's?" she asks, frowning at Gibbs' nod.
"I'll get our forensics guys over here," Fornell announces, pulling his cell phone out.
"Ziva, you're with me and Fornell. Suzuki, you'll stay here and run point with the FBI."
Not giving the stained mess of an agent a chance to protest, Gibbs rushes back into the kitchen. While he bolts out of the restaurant, he ignores everyone's questions. It isn't until he hits the sidewalk that he manages to breathe.
Fornell grabs his arm. "We'll find them."
"Abby get that evidence from the Morales murder yet?" Gibbs asks, changing the subject.
"Yeah, shoulda been there a few hours ago. You owe Strickland a big favor for that one."
While he nods slowly, Gibbs feels the hair on the back of his neck rise, and he glances through the storefront at Kenji's stricken face. Before he can double-back for a well-deserved headslap, his ringing phone distracts him. The blocked number makes him snap his fingers for Fornell's attention.
That better be DiNozzo or McGee.
"Gibbs."
There's an anxious exhale before a high-pitched female voice asks, "Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"
He glowers. "Yeah."
"This is Officer Hailey Johnson. I think I might have a witness for your BOLO."