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Chapter Thirteen

Desperado

Timothy McGee walked inside the Vault Tavern trying to look cool and casual – basically like Tony. He worried that he wasn't pulling it off since his insides felt anything but casual. In fact, he was wound tighter than a drum. His anxiety ratcheted up another notch when he realized this was one of his first undercover assignments – even if it was only posing as a club patron – and he felt as if he was failing miserably. He couldn't help feeling as if everyone was staring at him, knowing what he was doing.

Tim was used to succeeding at whatever he set his mind to – whether it be school, an exam, hacking into a secure database, or finding a hidden clue buried deep inside computer coding. Undercover work was a different beast, however. There was no script – no specific and logical set of procedures. It was thinking on his feet with no time to analyze or perfect his answers.

He hated it. And… he hated that he hated it even more.

He'd waited so long, wanted it so bad… but it wasn't anything like what he'd anticipated. He'd always known, deep down, that he wasn't good under pressure, but Tony always made it look so easy. Tim just assumed that if Tony could do it, then he'd be able to handle it. Although Tony had more experience, he was better educated.

Truth be told, he was swallowing antacids as if they were candy.

To make it worse, and he was ashamed to admit it, he found himself resenting Tony for his ease with people rather than praising him for how easy he made it look. Tim supposed it was like second nature to his flamboyant partner – much like computer skills were second nature to him.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

As he followed Ziva towards a table at the edge of the dance floor, he could feel the anger radiating off her as if it was a tangible thing. It had been a… stressful afternoon at the FBI office. Tim wasn't sure if being sent to the club was a reward in getting away from an angry Gibbs, or a punishment to be sent with an angry Ziva.

He'd left the tension-filled office only to be stuck in a cramped little car with his fuming partner. On the ride over, she'd ranted and raved with increasing violence, nearly running down several pedestrians and causing them to jump out of the way. Clutching the handhold, he shut his eyes to avoid the scenery speeding past at breakneck speed, but that only made him nauseous. By the time they'd reached the club, Tim was alarmed enough that he'd purposefully waited until Ziva was out of the car and storming toward the club before he opened his door. He couldn't squash the worry that she might plunge one of her knives in his back if he walked ahead of her.

He knew she'd feel bad about it later, but right now, she really didn't seem to be thinking clearly. It all began once she and Sacks returned from collecting the handbag left in the club the night before. While they'd been waiting, Tina put in the requests for warrants, and Tim discovered more on Dave Barrows' past. Barrows hadn't been stationed on the Delaware, but he did have some of the same loose connections to several arms dealers as Pete Warren.

They could've been introduced by any of them. Their mutual grievance with the Navy could've spawned their evil partnership. Tim would've scripted it that way.

Fornell decided to call in more FBI agents to surround the club when he and Gibbs went in to serve the warrants. Gibbs was still smarting over his confrontation with Tina, and McGee had been doing his best to avoid him. Ziva came into the squad room with a definite swagger, walked straight up to Gibbs and handed him the bag, smirking triumphantly at Tina as she did.

"Officer David, why are you giving this to me?" Gibbs barked, scowling.

Ziva, who always reacted badly to Gibbs using her full title, looked momentarily startled before covering it.

"It contains the listening device," she said.

"I know what it is," Gibbs said, the volume of his voice rising.

By now, everyone in the office was looking up to watch the exchange.

Ziva frowned, confused. "I do not understand. You have been waiting for this, no?"

"No. Special Agent Kehoe was, along with your report," Gibbs said, taking a step closer into her personal space as he often did when he was questioning a suspect.

"I thought you called her," Sacks said, startled.

Both Gibbs and Ziva ignored him, their eyes focused only on the other. Ziva's stiff posture relaxed, a small hint of a smile forming, as if they were sharing a secret between only them.

"You are in charge, so I naturally reported to you," Ziva said.

"You didn't," Gibbs said flatly.

Ziva's smile faltered. "But, we spoke – less than an hour ago."

"Yeah, but you were supposed to talk to Kehoe," Gibbs said, eyes fierce.

"What difference is that? I was told to report when I had the bag, and I reported to you, as I always do," she said stubbornly.

Gibbs pinned her with his eyes, looking as if he was tempted to give her one of the head slaps he always gave Tony. Instead, he, turned his back on her and looked to Agent Sacks, leaving Ziva stung by the dismissal.

"Anything notable happen outside the club?" he asked.

"I don't know if its significant, but both Barrows and Warren arrived while we were there. They came outside a short time later and seemed to be searching the area. Several other bouncer-types joined them, and they all looked angry and concerned. I assumed they were looking for their missing sailor, but I knew they wouldn't find him. I did snap a few photos of the unidentified men," he said, handing his phone to Agent Kehoe.

Tina grabbed it, seeming to take great pains to restrain herself. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"Since you thought they were looking for something – or someone – in the location our unconscious sailor was found, it might've been enough to get the search warrants earlier," she said, glaring pointedly at Gibbs.

She turned and took Sacks' phone with the pictures back into her office. Tim's fingers itched to do it himself, but he was paralyzed, finding it hard to breathe as he watched Gibbs slowly turn back toward Ziva.

Gibbs was usually all explosive anger, blowing up like an erupting volcano or bulldozering his way into a situation. This calm, cool fury was something Tim hadn't seen before, and it was somehow even more terrifying than his hotheaded demands.

"That was a sitrep," Gibbs said.

Ziva blinked. "I, of course, would have said the same had you asked."

"Did you misunderstand Kehoe's order, Officer David?" he asked, teeth bared and hands clenching as he struggled to control his fury.

Ziva didn't seem to comprehend the seriousness of the situation, or how many opportunities Gibbs was giving her to explain herself. He always wanted his people to anticipate what he wanted rather than having to ask. Ziva knew this.

"Gibbs, we are wasting time–"

"That's not your concern," he roared.

Ziva's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Agents Fornell and Kehoe outrank you. You were given a direct order, and you disobeyed it," he said.

Ziva clenched her jaw, but said, "I understand."

"I have no use for anyone on my team who can't follow orders. Is that understood?"

Tim jumped when Gibbs yelled, and Ziva took a step back, stung.

"Yes, Gibbs," she said, bowing her head.

"Yes, what?"

Ziva's brow furrowed. "Yes, I understand. I will follow orders."

"Agents Fornell and Kehoe's orders, too," Gibbs snarled.

"Yes, them too," Ziva replied, her eyes narrowing to slits.

When Tim and Ziva were ordered to go to the club when it opened, Ziva left without a word or looking back at anyone. She'd found the empty table inside the club, and Tim reluctantly followed behind, sitting beside her. He could see Tony behind the bar, already mixing drinks.

Tim wished he could talk to him, fill him in on what was going on and get his take. He couldn't remember a time when Gibbs was really angry with Ziva. It was always him or Tony. He hadn't noticed it until this blow-up. Ziva certainly wasn't taking the dressing down well. He remembered how both Tony and Kate quietly gave him pep talks after his first big mistake resulting in Gibbs' ire. He supposed he should say something to Ziva now, but he wasn't sure what.

And he was afraid of what she'd do to him if he tried.

His eyes wandered around the club. It was still early, so the business people were stopping in for drinks after work. The real partiers wouldn't arrive until later. The music was already playing, although softer, nothing too rowdy. He noticed a pretty woman in a blue business suit sitting at a table on the other side of the dance floor. She'd removed her jacket and undid the top couple buttons on her blouse. She caught Tim watching her and flashed him a coy smile.

Tim quickly looked away, feeling his face coloring.

"She is pretty, yes?" Ziva asked, speaking to him for the first time since they'd left the office.

Tim was startled by the apparent evaporation of her anger. She was actually smiling at him, although her smile somehow reminded him of a lethal predator.

"Yeah, she is," he acknowledged.

"That might be a useful way to keep your cover," she said.

Tim frowned. "Huh?"

"We are supposed to be here as customers. People come to a bar to meet potential mates, no?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, but I can't just go over there and try to hook up with someone while we're supposed to be working," Tim said, not quite sure if that was what she was suggesting.

She shrugged. "It is only a dance. You are too caught in your own head. Conversing with her would help you improve your undercover skills," she said.

Tim winced, knowing she must've noticed how uncomfortable he was. He felt his flailing confidence sinking even lower.

"I cannot believe she ran to Gibbs like a sniveling child. I do not work for her, and I do not believe she is in charge of anything," Ziva said, back on the same rant she'd been spouting in the car.

Tim sighed. "But she is in charge, Ziva. She's an SSA – same as Gibbs and Fornell, and we're in her field office," he said, feeling safer voicing his opinion in a crowd.

"Oh, not you, too. It is ridiculous. You and I report to Gibbs, same as always. The Director said Gibbs has lead," Ziva said.

Tim shrugged. "I know Gibbs has his own way of doing things, but other agencies don't work that way. They follow protocol. Even at NCIS, the Senior Field Agents are technically higher than us, and we're supposed to report to them, too."

"Do not be foolish, McGee. We do not report to Tony. He is a clown. I do not understand why he was ever given the title of SFA. It is only because he has worked for Gibbs longer, not because he is better than you or I. He is a preening fool with no skills. I was trained by the Mossad," Ziva said, her eyes narrowed in disdain.

Tim swallowed nervously. "I'm just telling you how it's supposed to work."

He knew it was hard to take Tony seriously, but he also knew how the chain of command was supposed to work. Ziva liked to tease Tony, and she was very good at disparaging him. She could actually get to him better than anyone he'd ever seen. Tim was also aware that he often jumped in with her, making it two on one, but right now, she almost sounded as if she was serious about it all. Like she actually hated Tony.

Tony was their partner, and Tim definitely didn't hate him. In fact, when he wasn't teasing or gluing Tim's fingers to his keyboard, Tim actually liked him. He felt really uncomfortable with Ziva's escalating agitation. She just needed to cool off.

His eyes floated over to where Tony was still busily making drinks. He was startled when he felt a slight tug on his sleeve. He looked over to find the pretty woman who he'd been staring at earlier.

"Care to dance?" she asked.

Tim was torn. He did want to dance with her, but he was working. Then again, Ziva said it would help him work on his undercover skills, and he really wanted to get away from Ziva just then.

"Sure," he said, smiling as he stood.

He followed her out onto the floor, and they began to dance. She was really good, much better than him. She had a pretty smile, but he found he couldn't enjoy it. He shouldn't be doing this. He was supposed to keep his eyes on Tony. Even though he could still see him behind the bar, he felt like he was doing something wrong. Ziva had the ear wig since it was easily covered by all her hair, and he knew she'd alert him if they got the signal that the raid was about to begin. Still, he was uncomfortable and couldn't focus on dancing.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he really meant it. "I have to go."

He left her standing on the floor, open-mouthed, and returned to the table where Ziva sat, looking exasperated.

"What are you doing? She wants to dance," Ziva said incredulously.

"It doesn't feel like working," Tim said.

Ziva rolled her eyes and turned away, shaking her head. A moment later, her dark eyes narrowed, and a sneer marred her face.

"Unbelievable," she spat.

"What?" Tim asked, confused.

"It is that woman he was panting all over last night," she said, her eyes focused on the bar.

Tim turned and noticed the blonde who'd been with Pete Warren the night before. They'd all heard the conversation recorded on the listening device, along with Tony's flirtation with the simpering woman.

As he watched, Stephanie leaned over the bar and whispered something in Tony's ear. Tony nodded, looking out at the crowd before he followed her toward the restrooms.

"I do not believe him," Ziva said, livid. "We are trying to take down terrorists, and he has gone to have a fastie in the men's room."

"Quickie," Tim said, automatically correcting her.

He was rather stunned, too. He couldn't imagine hooking up with a woman in the men's room of a crowded bar. He wasn't surprised Tony wouldn't have a problem with it, though, even if he was supposed to be working. Tim vaguely wondered if he could use it in the next scene he wanted to write with 'Agent Tommy.'

"She went with him right into the men's room," Ziva said, outraged.

"Er… Ziva… you follow him into the men's room all the time," Tim said.

"Only to tell him something he does not want to hear, or ask him something he will not answer. Not for… doing what I am sure they are doing right now," she said, making a face.

They were supposed to have eyes on Tony, but Tim really didn't want to walk into the men's room and catch Tony… doing that. He squirmed, uncomfortable with the images in his head. He knew Tony was supposed to be someone else, but really? He was still working.

"Go on and dance with your pretty admirer, Tim. I will watch for Tony's reappearance," Ziva said, crossing her arms. "He is unbelievable."

"I know," Tim said, cringing.

He looked over and saw the woman he'd been dancing with. She was sitting at her table alone. All her friends were on the dance floor. He felt guilty for leaving her.

"All right. Don't forget to stay away from the amplifiers so you can hear if they tell you they're coming in," he said, making a decision.

He didn't know how long it would take to issue the warrants. Sacks was out tracking down Pete Warren, and they wanted to do everyone at once. Tim was going to work on his undercover skills. With that in mind, he walked across the floor to apologize, and see if she still wanted to dance.

Tim felt lucky she agreed even after his rude dismissal. Dancing wasn't his favorite thing – he always felt too clumsy and that everyone was staring at him. His partner didn't seem to mind his awkwardness, though, and his confidence grew. He kept glancing over at the bar, but Tony hadn't returned to his post.

He wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been dancing as one song blended into another, but he saw when Ron Sacks came in the front entrance, his face thunderous. Tim quickly looked over at Ziva to see if she'd noticed, only there was another couple sitting at the table. Doing a quick scan, he saw her near the end of the bar – right beside one of the large amplifiers.

Tim paled. She wouldn't have heard if they were ready to come in and wouldn't have been able to give the all clear without having Tony in her sight. He again had to apologize to his dance partner, who this time definitely looked annoyed, and he hurried over, reaching Ziva just as Ron did.

The music was blaring too loud to hear anything. Furious, Ron jerked his head toward the other side of the room and stormed away. Tim quickly followed, but Ziva traveled at a slower, nearly insolent pace. Once they reached the wall near the closed door to the poker room, Ron turned, glaring at both of them.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing? You're supposed to be watching DiNozzo, and I find one busting a move and the other not even looking at the bar. Where's DiNozzo?" he asked, teeth clenched.

Tim opened and closed his mouth, his heart hammering. "I was keeping up appearances," he said weakly.

"Is Gibbs here? Is he ready to make an arrest?" Ziva asked, knowing the club was still too loud for them to be overheard.

"You should know since you're wearing the ear wig," Ron snarled.

Ziva frowned. "No one has said anything."

"We've been asking you to cough, so we knew you were ready for ten minutes. Where's DiNozzo?" he repeated, now looking around the bar.

"Ziva, you were supposed to stay away from the amplifiers," Tim said, moaning.

"I did. I was not anywhere near the dance floor," she said.

"The amplifiers are over by the bar," Tim said, shocked she didn't know that.

"Hey! Where's DiNozzo?" Ron asked again, his expression becoming strained.

Ziva rolled her eyes. "He is having sex in the men's room," she said, looking disgusted.

Ron's eyes opened wide. "He's what?"

Maybe it was Ron's concern, or maybe it was just his senses catching up with him, but Tim suddenly felt extremely apprehensive.

"Ziva… it's been an awfully long time," he said.

She waved her hand dismissively. "How many times has he bragged about his prowess? I am sure he is just trying to make everyone think he has that kind of stamina."

Both Tim and Ron glanced at one another uneasily. They turned as one and hurried towards the restrooms. Ziva followed, although she made it clear she thought they were being ridiculous.

Ron pushed opened the men's room door, and Tim followed him inside. It was crowded, but there was no sign of Tony or Stephanie anywhere. They checked each of the stalls, also coming up empty.

"Check the women's room," Ron barked at Ziva.

Clearly affronted by his tone, she followed the directive nonetheless. Tim felt as if it took ages for her to return, each second an eternity as worry blossomed in his stomach. If anything happened to Tony…

At last, Ziva re-emerged, frowning. "They are not there," she said, finally looking uncomfortable. "What about the little room behind the bar where they keep supplies. We can not get in there without raising suspicion."

Tim didn't care, he turned the corner, intending to push his way in. He didn't need to, however. A waitress and another bartender were already storming out.

"Where the hell did he go? His break was over ten minutes ago. We're dying out there one man down," the bartender said.

"I don't know, but Cody has never done anything like this before," the waitress replied.

Panicky, Tim's mouth fell open, and he looked back at his two companions. Ron wore the same, shell-shocked expression. Only Ziva remained calm.

Ron spoke into the microphone he had hidden at his wrist. "Fornell, we've got a problem."

/* /* /* /*

Tony slowly drifted to awareness, disoriented and in a world of pain. His entire body hurt so badly, he wasn't even sure where he ended and the pain began. He only managed to stifle the groan trying to climb out of him because he heard voices nearby, and they weren't speaking to him.

"You sure he's a cop? He doesn't look like a cop, and he's a good bartender," Dave Barrows said.

"He is according to the tip off," Matt Evans said indifferently.

"Who's your informant? Are you sure she can be trusted?" a female voice asked.

It took Tony a moment to realize it was Stephanie, and she didn't sound nearly as vacuous as she had the previous evening.

"I don't know. Deke didn't get the broad's name," Matt replied.

"Could be an ex-girlfriend with a grudge," Stephanie said.

"Or it could be true, and we can't take that risk. Not when we're this close. Let us know when he regains consciousness. I've got questions," Pete said.

Tony sensed more than heard them moving away. Even in his disoriented state, he knew he wasn't alone. He took a chance and cracked his eyes open. Wherever he was, it was pitch black. He therefore knew he could fully open his eyes and take stock. He ached everywhere, but it seemed to be radiating mostly from his ribs, head, and particularly his left hand.

That was probably because he had a vague recollection of Matt stomping on it. He tried to curl his fingers, but that sent another jolt of agony up his arms, and it was only force of will that enabled him to suppress a yelp.

Okay, DiNozzo. Don't do that again.

He still couldn't see anything, and he hadn't grown accustomed to the dark. That led him to believe that even if it was still night, wherever he was had no windows. It smelled damp and musty, but he thought he could hear the faint sounds of traffic outside. It was cold, as if the place didn't have any heat. He could tell he wasn't lying on bare floor however, because it was sort of soft. He'd bet there was a threadbare carpet, which would mean he wasn't in a warehouse.

Moving the fingers on his right hand slightly, he was dismayed to realize that he was lying atop a large, plastic sheet – the kind criminals used to cover up a crime scene.

You better think of something fast because you're in deep shit, Anthony.

He shut his eyes again, trying to regain his equilibrium and work out the problem. He knew the voices, and he'd been at the bar when Stephanie and Matt attacked. How he got here was the question. He tried to piece it all together. Stephanie drugged him, that much was obvious. That might explain why his head was so messed up because he didn't recall hitting it.

As soon as he thought about it, the image of a dark hole formed in his mind. Then he remembered tumbling down some stairs. Maybe he did have a concussion. It took a few more moments, before a vision of a tunnel beneath the club became clear. It hadn't been a wine cellar after all.

Tony dimly recalled stories from his days on the force here in Philadelphia that there was supposedly a maze of underground tunnels left over from Civil War that had been part of the Underground Railway. Where had that particular tunnel led? He didn't think it could be far since they'd dragged him, although he supposed they could've had a car waiting nearby. He definitely was on something more solid than dirt.

Still, the others must be looking for him by now, right? Tim and Ziva saw him with Stephanie. They would know he was missing. Gibbs and the FBI would've had the club surrounded, so the only way out would be the tunnel. They'd just have to find it.

So, you have to try and not get dead before help arrives.

A growing panic bubbled in his stomach, trying to force its way up. What if something happened to Tim and Ziva? What if they knew the pair were working with him and grabbed them before they were able to report? Were they here somewhere, too? Was this where they were holding Sully and Paul Bergman, the missing roommate from NSWC?

Tony took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. One step at a time. He had to get out of here before he could help them. He didn't think there was anyone here other than whoever they'd left standing guard. He took another breath, praying he wouldn't detect the odor of a rotting corpse in here with him.

Been there, done that.

The only thing he could smell was a cigarette. He could hear the sound of the guard breathing and guessed he was standing near the entrance, since the others were definitely no longer there.

The man was far enough away that he would have the advantage if Tony tried to sit up, so that wouldn't work. Matt used his fists and feet to subdue Tony, not a gun, although he knew the other victims had been beaten with iron rods. That still didn't mean that this guy didn't have a gun.

Think, Anthony.

Rule nine! It wouldn't be the first time that one saved his life. Here's hoping it would work again. He couldn't carry his Sig in the bar, but he still had the knife hidden inside his belt. If he could just loosen it without being noticed.

Painstakingly slow, he inched his right hand towards the belt, the left one still throbbing incessantly. When he finally got hold of the buckle, it took a little finesse to get it undone, giving him access to the knife hidden inside. He'd always known that his ability to unhook a bra one-handed would one day be useful for more than just the obvious.

Before he could remove the knife however, a flashlight shone directly in his eyes, blinding him. Tony stilled his movement, shutting his eyes quickly.

"No luck, pretty boy. I know you're awake," a rough voice taunted.

The light was doused, but the stranger spoke into what Tony assumed was his phone, "Yeah, he's awake."

Note: Sorry I couldn't get this posted yesterday. I went to the Tom Brady Induction Ceremony at Gillette, and it was fabulous. Apologies for the double cliffie.