Note: Thanks for all the comments and kudos - very much appreciated. Last week this site gave me the notices, but they didn't appear on the page. This week, they're on the page, but notifications aren't working again. I wish they'd get their act together. I am responding, but you might have to check your account page.

Chapter Fourteen

Gimme Three Steps

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

Busted!

Tony was tempted to pull out his knife and attack by surprise, but he knew he was only going to get one chance. The odds of success now were slim, at best. The room was too dark to see exactly where his guard stood, and more importantly, Tony wasn't sure he wouldn't keel right over if he tried to stand, never mind lunge.

He didn't feel right, and he suspected that whatever drug he'd been given wasn't fully out of his system. His untucked shirt was long enough that it would hide the fact his belt was unbuckled, so if push came to shove, he still had the element of surprise. He knew he wouldn't have much time to make an escape, and he wasn't certain how far away his other captors were. He decided to try and gather a little more intel and wait for a better chance.

Maybe he could throw up all over their shoes as a distraction. From the way his stomach was roiling, it was a distinct possibility.

He heard footsteps growing closer when suddenly, a bright light filled the room, blinding him. His captors held a portable lantern – the kind you used for camping. Now, Tony could see he was being held in a good-sized room. He'd been right about the threadbare carpet, but wrong about the lack of windows. The windows were all boarded up.

The exit was to his left, and his captors stood as his feet. Tony was lying in the center of the room on top of a plastic tarp. The tarp was more than a little worrisome, but he knew they tended to keep their victims alive for a while. He tried to stop the images flashing across his mind of what had been done to those victims.

Dave Barrows, Matt Evans, Pete Warren, and Stephanie joined the stranger who'd been guarding him. He was shorter than the other men, stocky, with powerful arms and a pronounced limp. Tony noticed it as he walked around to where Tony's head rested.

"Get up, pig," Pete snarled.

The man behind him roughly grabbed Tony by the collar of his shirt, jerked him up, and forced him into a kneeling position. Tony couldn't stop the involuntary groan the sudden movement caused. He saw stars and immediately wrapped his left arm around the agonizing pain in his ribs. He was sure at least one of them was broken. His hand on that side was useless, but it left his good hand free.

"I still don't think he looks like a cop, but we can't take that chance," Stephanie said, sounding cold and calculating.

Believing she'd simply been an empty piece of eye candy had been a mistake. She'd played her part well.

"Well, if he looked like a cop, he wouldn't be undercover, would he?" his guard asked, sneering.

"What the hell is this?" Tony asked, feigning confusion.

He'd heard them say they got a tip-off that he was a cop, but they didn't know if the source was reliable. Maybe he could still keep his cover intact. He'd worry about the informant later.

"Who do you work for? Which precinct?" Matt demanded.

"What? I work for you, you know that," Tony said thickly, looking at Barrows. He'd deduced that Barrows was the weak link and not one hundred percent sure of this course of action.

The unidentified man punched him in the mouth, jerking his head to the side and making him see stars. He spat out a mouthful of blood, glaring.

"Not the mouth, Sonny. I need him to answer some questions first," Pete said.

Okay, mystery captor identified. His head was so muddled by the drugs, he was having difficulty holding onto all the facts that he'd need if he ever got the chance to report them.

"We know you're not really Cody Redman. You're a cop," Matt said, spitting the last word.

"Who sent you? What do they know?" Pete demanded.

Tony scrunched up his face, his confusion only half-fabricated. "I don't know what you're talking about. I am Cody Redman. I've always been Cody Redman," he insisted.

Pete nodded, and Sonny hit him again. This time, his right eye took the blow. Tony swayed, nearly toppling over, but Sonny again gripped the collar of his shirt, keeping him on his knees and giving him a violet shake that certainly didn't help his spinning head.

"I've got an idea. Sign your name," Barrows said, holding out a small notebook. "I'll know if its Redman's signature. I have his original letter to match it."

"Better think of something else," Tony said, panting but thinking fast.

"Yeah? Why's that? Typical sloppy cop – didn't bother to practice forging the real guy's signature?" Matt sneered, lashing out with his boot once again.

Sonny grabbed a fistful of Tony's hair, jerking his head back, and Matt dealt another blow to Tony's face. Breathing as deeply as he could with his aching ribs, it took him a moment longer this time to pull it together.

"I don't know what your problem is, or where you got the idea that I'm a cop – but in case you forgot – you busted up my left hand," he said, gasping.

"I'm going to bust the other one if you don't do as Mr. Barrows asked," Matt said, teeth clenched.

Tony shook his head, causing the room to spin. "I've been making drinks for you all week – didn't you once notice that I'm left-handed, genius?" he asked, earning himself another kick from Matt.

He could only hope they wouldn't recognize his deception, but none of them seemed particularly observant. The key to a good lie is to say it with conviction. That was Tony's own rule based on a lifetime of talking his way out of sticky situations. Gibbs had a rule of his own that also worked – Rule Seven – be specific when you lie.

"You idiot!" Barrows bellowed. "I need to know if he's really a cop, and what they know about my business."

"He'll talk eventually – they always do," Pete said coldly.

"But Pops, we don't have a lot of time. We never got that other guy to tell us when the Delaware gets underway," Sonny said.

He still had a grip on Tony's hair and he shook him when he spoke, sending shards of agony coursing through Tony's entire body. Little bursts of light exploded behind his eyes.

"You let me worry about that," Pete said, before turning back to Tony. "Was that you, too? Huh? Did you let our source go?"

"What? I don't know what you guys are talking about. Have you been sampling too much of the stock?" Tony asked.

Pete reached over and smacked him in the mouth again, despite telling Sonny not to do it. For the first time, the older man looked concerned.

"Dave, I suggest we lay low until we hear what's happening at the club. We can't let them get to us now, not when we're so close," he said.

Barrows nodded, glancing at Tony one more time, looking troubled. It didn't stop him from exiting the room and leaving Tony to his fate, however.

"If he is a cop, it'll take a while. He's already not so pretty anymore," Stephanie said indifferently.

Pete ignored her, his stare never once flickering from Tony's.

"I'll ask you one more time, why are you investigating Vault Tavern?" he asked, his dark eyes glittering with malice.

"I'm not investigating anything. I make drinks," Tony said. The side of his face along with his lip were swelling, making his words sound distorted.

Sonny removed an iron rod from inside the lining of his jacket, letting Tony see it for a prolonged moment, raising the tension in the room. Tony tensed, his heart racing as he swallowed thickly.

Moving at a speed far too quick for his size, he reared back and struck Tony on his side, doubling him over. He yelled in pain and was struck again.

"You decide how painful this is going to be," Sonny said, sounding as if he hoped it be would very painful.

Wheezing, it took Tony a moment to get his breathing under control, but his mouth had always tended to run away from him when he was backed into a corner.

"Fists and iron rods, really? Very unsophisticated hillbilly tactics. I mean, there's something so formal about the point of gun," he said, using his best Bond accent.

It really was quite good, even if most people forgot George Lazenby was Bond for a single film. Clearly Matt didn't appreciate the effort as he reached over and gave Tony another blow to the head. This one caused his vision to blur, and he would've slumped over if Sony wasn't holding him up. Little spots appeared, growing larger and trying to connect, but he fought with everything he had to hang on to consciousness. He dropped his head to his chest as if he'd passed out and let his body sag. Unconsciousness wasn't far off, anyway, but maybe he could delay them.

Pete growled and Tony heard the sound of flesh on flesh. Since Sonny was behind him, Pete had either hit Matt or Stephanie.

"You really are an idiot. What part of needing him to answer some questions didn't you understand? Go call Lola – tell her to check out the club and let you know if there's any activity there," he said.

Tony sensed Matt leaving the room. That left just Pete, Sonny, and Stephanie – but it was still too many for Tony to handle in the shape he was in.

"Work him over. Lemme know when he's ready to talk – but do not kill him. We need some answers," Pete said.

"Got it," Sonny replied.

"Stephanie. we need to find Dave and calm him down before he does something stupid," Pete said.

Since Sonny was behind him, Tony knew it was safe to crack his eyes open. He saw the blurred outline of Pete and Stephanie's feet walking away. Stephanie appeared to be wearing ridiculously high, spiky heels. He was glad she wasn't the one doing the kicking.

Tony kept his head slumped, body limp, waiting for Sonny to let go of his collar. That would be the moment to make his move. Still, he wouldn't mind if it took a few more minutes. It gave him time to gather his strength. All too soon, Sonny let go, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

"Come on, pretty boy. Wakey, Wakey. You got some 'splainen to do," Sonny said, taking a step to the left to what he thought was Tony's dominant side.

Really? He didn't even catch the Bond quote I dropped earlier, but he thinks he can fool me with I Love Lucy?

Tony turned his head, a huge, unexpected grin with lots of teeth bloomed across his battered face, disconcerting his foe.

"Ricky Ricardo?" he scoffed.

In that single second of surprised distraction, Tony kicked his leg backwards with as much strength as he could muster, quickly removing the knife from his belt at the same time. His foot connected with Sonny's right knee; the side Tony earlier noticed his limp. Sonny crumpled to the ground, swearing loudly, enraged.

Tony scrambled to his feet, picking up the lead pipe that Sonny dropped when he fell. He swung it, hitting his captor in the back of his head and knocking him out. He knew the blow was too weak to have killed him, but his shout didn't leave Tony a lot of time to get away. He picked up the camp light and placed it near the door, lighting outside the room with a very dim glow.

Peeking out, he saw rows and rows of empty door slots, with a battered soda machine at the end of the hallway. The machine was long empty, and the signs of vandalism were clear up and down the corridor.

He was in an old hotel, most likely condemned. Knowing the stairs would be at the end, they usually were in most hotels, he moved as quickly as he could, bumping into walls several times. He was unsteady on his feet because his head was spinning. At least the lack of heat was helping to keep him awake. The hallway seemed to elongate as he stumbled. It grew darker and darker the further away he got from the room where he'd been held. Before he reached the stairwell, however, he heard voices coming from the other end of the corridor.

He quickly ducked into one of empty doorways, knowing it wouldn't take long for Sonny to be discovered.

Panting and trying to make his uncooperative brain think, he ran his hands along the walls, trying to determine if there was anything he could use as a weapon. He still had his knife.

The room was too small to be a guest room, so more likely a supply closet. There were a few rusty shelves, but they'd long been wiped clean of anything useful. He was about to give up when the hand he'd been trailing against the wall, suddenly fell into nothingness.

Feeling around, he realized it wasn't a doorway, but instead a square opening in the wall. He knew it wasn't another boarded-up window, it was too small and solid inside the opening. He'd bet it was an old laundry chute. It was a way out, but he had no idea how far the drop would be, or what was at the bottom. He'd heard cars back in the other room, and they sounded rather close, so he didn't believe he was too far above street level.

It's only a last resort.

He paused, trying to catch his breath while straining to hear. The adrenaline rush from his escape was fading, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stay upright much longer. He kept trying to will the pain away like his old coach always told him could be done. Mind over matter.

Bullshit.

"Fuck! The son of a bitch is gone," Matt's voice echoed down the empty hallway.

"Find him, and when you do, he's mine," Pete growled menacingly.

Tony could see flashlight beams on the walls in the corridor as they began conducting their search. There was nothing left for it. He had to escape and bring Gibbs back here to search for the others. Climbing up so he could slide down feet- rather than head-first, his heart hammering, he eased himself down as far as could go, hanging on with only his right hand. His ribs screamed in protest, and he was sure at least two of the fingers on his left hand were broken. They were sticking out at ridiculously odd angles.

Once he was hanging as far as he could go, he clamped his eyes shut, hoping against hope this wouldn't be the last stupid stunt he'd ever pull.

He held his breath and let go, imagining he was Han Solo or Luke Skywalker as he flew down the garbage chute. There was no way to slow his descent. He only had a minute to hope that if there was a pile of trash at the bottom, it wouldn't have some kind of slimy monster hidden underneath.

Before he'd even had time to gather his wits, the chute ended, dropping him onto a concrete floor. The jarring impact caused his legs to give out beneath him, and the darkness finally won.

/* /* /* /*

Gibbs stood outside the Vault Tavern, his breath making frosty puffs in the night air as he barked at the FBI agents surrounding the club. Once the warrants were finally granted, things began coming together fast. He had a very bad feeling about this, and he wanted to get feet on the ground sooner rather than later.

Fornell kept insisting they needed to wait for his junior agent, Ron Sacks, to locate Pete Warren. They wanted all three suspects brought in simultaneously so no one would have the chance to run. While Gibbs agreed it was the best approach, he had no patience for it, and his temper grew as a result.

As a sniper, he could wait for hours or days for the perfect shot, watching for his target or hearing the go order from his CO. When it came to waiting for clues or dealing with bureaucratic red tape, however, it didn't sit right. He was a man of action, and he couldn't tolerate delay.

McGee and Ziva were already inside the club keeping eyes on DiNozzo. They hadn't reported any problems, but he was still concerned. Ziva had displayed a piss-poor attitude along with her lapse in judgement. He'd given her chance after chance to realize her mistake, and she'd failed. Kehoe even went so far as to suggest Ziva was intentionally holding back the fact Warren had been at the club earlier to slow them down, thus making the FBI look bad.

Gibbs wished he could've squashed that theory before she'd even finished the sentence, but he couldn't. And it pissed him off. Everything Tony complained about that night back in his basement was the same concern Kehoe was voicing now.

And Gibbs couldn't deny that their accusations had legs.

He didn't want to believe it. He'd hoped it was just taking longer for a partnership bond to form between his two agents, but he'd been sure it eventually would.

He wasn't so certain anymore. Ziva's insolence and her blatant insubordination would have to be addressed, and he didn't think Jenny would back him up. Eventually, he'd end up going around her, but he knew that would just make the work environment in the Navy yard hostile.

If he wanted Ziva to fall in line, he was going to have to get tougher with her and enforce the chain of command. No more going soft. Tony was right, Ziva was abusing his trust and the protectiveness he felt for her. He didn't think the situation was lost, but things would need to change.

He'd been tempted to bench her today, except their current case was moving too quickly, and he couldn't afford to be down an agent. They'd had Eric Montague's place under surveillance since they first brought him to DC, and this morning, the package they'd been expecting arrived in his mail.

It was yet another demand for Montague to provide information if he ever wanted to see his roommate alive. The package contained a single human finger. The FBI's lab ran DNA, and the finger belonged to Paul Bergmann. The lab was also able to tell that Bergmann was alive when his finger was chopped off, although it was still unclear exactly how long ago that was.

Gibbs asked Abby to re-run the tests, just to be sure. Jenny complained that the Admiral was impatient, and his son was growing frustrated with his confinement. Gibbs didn't care what they wanted, but he hoped for the roommate's sake that this could be resolved quickly.

The second bit of intel they received came from the photos Sacks took at the bar earlier that day. AFIS got a ping on one of the men – Zachary 'Sonny' Warren, Pete's son. He'd received a Dishonorable discharge from the Navy for numerous counts of misconduct, and had been AWOL on several occasions. He'd also served time for violent assaults. Gibbs suspected he was the reason this whole mess began. He wanted to get a warrant to bring him in, as well, but was told they didn't have enough on him.

If Sonny was inside the club, Gibbs intended to talk with him, anyway. He was already a disgrace to the Navy, no need to make it worse.

So, they had warrants for three of the four, everyone was in place, they just needed the call from Sacks indicating it was time for the synchronized raid to begin.

Gibbs was tempted to pull a DiNozzo and call him Slacks when he finally did call.

"Won't be long now," Fornell said, blowing on his hands. "I'm freezing my ass off out here."

"He call?" Gibbs asked.

"Not yet, but he will. Sacks is competent, despite what your team thinks," Fornell replied, lifting on eyebrow.

Gibbs shrugged. "You call antagonizing DiNozzo after you'd falsely arrested him competent?"

Fornell rolled his eyes. "No one antagonized him. I kept him well away from general lockup."

"But you didn't leash your bulldog."

Gibbs drove DiNozzo home the night he'd been released from prison, and he'd stayed for a few drinks. DiNozzo let slip a few veiled comments, alerting Gibbs that captivity hadn't gone as smoothly as Fornell had assured him it had.

Fornell looked at him quickly, face smooth, but Gibbs could read the doubt in his eyes. So, he did know his agent wasn't as straight and narrow as he pretended.

As if summoned by their conversation, Ron Sacks suddenly arrived at the club, making a beeline for Fornell. Tina quickly moved to join them.

"What happened?" Fornell asked before Sacks even spoke.

"No luck on Warren. His car is in his driveway, but he's not home, not at his place of business, and his phone must be turned off because I couldn't ping his current location. The last known spot was here, at the Tavern – might've been when I photographed him this afternoon," Sacks said. "He could still be here."

"Dammit," Fornell said, teeth clenched.

"You're sure Evans and Barrows are here?" Tina asked.

"They're phones are – but that doesn't guarantee they didn't leave them behind," Sacks said.

Gibbs nodded. Even if they weren't and had somehow slipped out of their net, the workers inside might've noticed something. With the warrants, they could at least ask some questions.

"Tell Ziva we're coming in," Gibbs said.

Fornell nodded and spoke into his radio which was connected to the earpiece Ziva was wearing. They waited a moment for Ziva to cough, which was the signal that she'd heard them, and it was clear to proceed.

All three stared at the radio as if it was somehow going to perform tricks, but they were met with silence.

"Are we clear?" Fornell spoke again.

They waited a couple more minutes but still nothing.

"Maybe it's too loud," Tina suggested.

Gibbs shook his head. "McGee knows to stay in range. There's something going on inside."

"We're coming in. Over," Fornell tried again.

Gibbs' gut was roiling. Something was wrong, and his people were in the middle of it.

"Let's roll," Gibbs said, striding toward the club entrance.

Fornell grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Not yet. We haven't heard the all clear. That's protocol. We just need to give her a few minutes. There might be a reason she doesn't want us to enter."

"Yeah, or she could be in trouble. Something's not right. We need to go," Gibbs insisted.

Sacks glanced back and forth between the two. Gibbs sensed his uncertainty, and it only further convinced him that something had gone wrong.

"I'm going in," Gibbs said, done waiting.

"Let me do it," Sacks volunteered. "I've been here as a customer. I can just walk in and check the situation. I fit better than either of you," Sacks said.

"That's a good idea. Here, take my communicator," Tina said, fastening the device to Sacks wrist.

Gibbs watched Sacks go inside, battling his urge to say the hell with all of them and follow. It seemed to take ages to for Sacks to respond, but when he did, his words sent an ominous chill down their spines.

"Fornell, we've got a problem."

"What?" Fornell asked, his eyes meeting Gibbs.

"DiNozzo's missing. His co-workers are looking for him, too," Sacks replied.

"How the hell can he be missing? We've had the club surrounded since before opening, and he was seen going in for his shift," Fornell said, hurrying to catch up with Gibbs, who was already storming toward the entrance.

"If there's trouble, DiNozzo will find it," Gibbs called over his shoulder.

He'd known something was off. He should've ignored protocol and gone with his gut. How could Tony have disappeared with two pair of eyes watching him? Gibbs intended to find out, and if someone dropped the ball, heads were going to roll.

The FBI units swarmed the place in a relatively orderly fashion, instructing people to remain calm while they conducted a search. There were the usual panickers and folks who insisted they had rights and didn't have to stay, but they were all subdued peacefully in the end.

Their search was a complete bust, however.

No DiNozzo, and no sign of Barrows, Warren, or Evans, either. Gibbs spoke with the other bartenders, and they all gave him the same story – Redman, aka DiNozzo, indicated he was taking a break and never returned. None of them saw him leave the club, however, and his leather jacket was still hanging on the rack.

As he quickly moved to check that statement for himself, his concern and frustration grew. The jacket was there, causing his jaw to tick in irritation. Curiously, neither of his agents had yet approached him to report, alerting him something was off. He found them with Sacks, searching the card room.

"Gibbs!" Ziva said once she saw him. "We have searched for any hidden panels or exits here or in the bathrooms. There is nothing."

McGee hung his head, his expression pained. Sacks took a few steps back as if wishing he could distance himself from the other two. Gibbs was blocking the door, however.

"Explain!"

"Can't find him anywhere Boss. No sign of Stephanie, either," McGee said.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Gibs demanded.

"After Stephanie entered the club. She approached him. We could not hear what they discussed, but last we saw, he followed her to get lucky in the men's room," Ziva said, frowning her disproval.

"What?" Gibbs asked incredulously.

He turned towards McGee expectantly, and McGee cringed under the fierce glare. DiNozzo might like to goof off, but he was always on his game when it came to the work.

"Ah, I di-didn't actually see him enter the men's room, er, just into the hallway where the bathrooms are located," McGee said, head bowed.

"You didn't follow them?" he bellowed, near his boiling point.

"We had no desire to witness him rutting in a stall," Ziva said, her lip curled. "We instead watched closely for his return."

"We did search both the bathrooms and, the hallway once we realized it was taking too long," McGee said.

For a beat, Gibbs just stared at them, nonplussed.

"They're both missing. And you still think it was a bathroom tryst?" he finally shouted.

Ziva pressed her lips together, and McGee clamped his eyes shut. Gibbs was having a hard time keeping a lid on his anger. He wanted to knock their heads together. If he wasn't so concerned for DiNozzo, he'd put a boot up their asses.

Still, neither offered an explanation. He'd deal with them after DiNozzo was located.

"Was Warren with the girl?" he asked.

McGee shook his head. "Haven't seen him since we got here."

"Why didn't you respond to the radio?" he asked, turning his attention, and his angry gaze, back towards Ziva.

"It was too loud. I did not hear it," she said, her tone clipped.

There was a pause, Gibbs glared at her, waiting for more. It was Sacks who spoke up, however.

"She was standing too close to the amp."

Gibbs whirled back to McGee, who flinched again.

"Why didn't you move? You should know where it gets reception."

McGee hesitated, eyes down and face coloring. He clearly didn't want to answer the question. Gibbs patience ran out.

"Explain!" he demanded, getting into McGee's personal space.

The junior agent swallowed thickly, shoulders slumping. "I was dancing, Boss."

Gibbs was sure he'd misheard. That couldn't be right. Once again, the echo of DiNozzo's words about his partners filtered through his mind chillingly.

What happens when he doesn't have anyone there to guide him step by step… or if he gets the wrong guidance?

Before he could get to the truth, however, Fornell poked his head into the room, looking extremely tense.

"Jethro, I just had an urgent call from the hospital. Our sailor remembered something else. There's a hidden tunnel beneath the stock room. That's where DiNozzo found him last night and pulled him out."

Without another word or glance to his errant agents, Gibbs stormed from the room like a volcano about to blow.