"If you really want my opinion, I believe you need to put the RFIDs back in or, at the very least, one of them. I mean, you've indicated the rapid decline occured almost immediately after they were removed from his body, so I don't see any other option available at this time. Maybe they *are* directly connected, somehow, to his survival. Maybe Doctor Martinez implanted them specifically to ensure his continued existence, or maybe they don't have any bearing at all with his present condition...*I* don't know...but all you have to do is look at him to see what's happening: he's dying, plain and simple. His O2 levels are extremely low, even with the oxygen cranked up, and he's showing signs of imminent organ failure, especially his kidneys. You've got life support systems standing by because there's a real possibility he's going to flatline again and the respirator is going to be the only thing keeping his body alive. To tell you the truth, I don't know why you're even debating about this. I just don't think it's going to make much difference, one way or the other but, in the long run, what's it going to hurt?"
And it had been as simple as that.
Well within the span of an hour and after hearing CDC Doctor Thomas Gustafson's grim evaluation and opinion, Emilio Martinez's test subject had been prepped, the original RFID devices properly sterilized, and their insertion back into DiNozzo's body completed...not in their original positions but placed in areas deemed easier to monitor and care for and, most importantly, less invasive: one in the meaty section of the upper left arm, another directly below the navel, and the last just above the right knee. The placement and spacing of them about DiNozzo's failing body was considered acceptable and close enough to their original positions. There was no reason to conceal them like Martinez had, under hair or inserted intimately. Everyone close to DiNozzo knew of their existence, knew he was being tracked, but it had been so difficult for those directly involved with his care to see those three, thin devices disappearing back under the tender flesh once more.
The surgery, itself, had been straight-forth and simple and without an iota of complication. Lieutenant Commander Wainwright's capable hands had been steady, sure, and completely professional and she'd been quick as humanly possible, wanting to complete the task in as brief a time as she could. Ducky had assisted his colleague, administering the local anesthetic to each designated area beforehand, and carefully closing the small, straight incisions afterwards, his tiny, precise stitches applied with considerable thoughtfulness and a good measure of pure, undisguised affection. The residual scarring, when the wounds ultimately healed, would be virtually invisible to any untrained eye.
And when it was all over and the hideous, functioning devices were successfully replaced subcutaneously and covered with thin, sterile dressings, both Ducky and Wainwright had momentarily turned away from each other, and the blissfully unconscious young man on the bed, and had sent up their own private, silent prayers to whatever deity was supposedly watching over the ailing agent. There was no way to know if DiNozzo would improve, no way to know if the devices were actually designed to to keep him alive, and no way to ignore the feeling they'd just allowed themselves to add to his tenuous condition and on-going pain. They were both well aware of the sheer horror reflected in his desperate, stricken eyes as Jethro Gibbs had broken the news of their intentions to him earlier in the day and could only hope he would, eventually, be able to forgive them for their actions.
*** Gibbs had swallowed once and then spoken...and the words made DiNozzo's world narrow and turn black.
"We may have to put the tags back in your body." ***
DiNozzo had taken one, quick, ragged breath, his green eyes widening with denial and fear, and had weakly screamed out his refusal at the idea to Gibbs...and the whole world in general...surging up from the mattress with an unexpected show of strength and striking out at the former Marine, clenched fists landing harmlessly against the broad chest, the strong shoulder, and even clipping the solid chin, trying to fight against the whole unjust situation. Gibbs had taken the physical blows stoically but, emotionally, each strike had battered against his barrier of resolve, injuring his spirit and damaging his soul. The usually impassive facade had cracked, briefly.
Gibbs had pulled the feebly struggling young man close to his chest, careful not to add more injury to the already frail body, and had listened silently to the pleas, the swearing, the God-awful, searing, name-calling, accepting the pathetic, ineffectual blows, until every hurt, imagined or real, had been purged from DiNozzo's system, leaving a fragile, weeping shell of the strong man he'd once been. Gibbs had continued to to hold on tightly, murmuring soft, soothing words of support and compassion, waiting until the body in his arms went limp and all but unresponsive. Only then had Gibbs laid DiNozzo back against the pillow and mattress, releasing him from the embrace, and had used his big, strong hands to tenderly stroke through the mussed, damp hair and lovingly caress the wet, pale cheeks.
To those in the room, it had almost been too intimate to watch. It had been simple to recognize how much the younger man meant to Gibbs...and it was much more than anyone had ever expected or thought possible. The expression on the older agent's face, the way he'd reverently touched the ailing body, and the pained, desolate look in those usually sharp, blue eyes had spoken wordlessly of a man on the brink of losing most of his heart and a great portion of his soul.
That Gibbs had been unconscious during the final discussion and resultant reinsertion of the RFIDs into DiNozzo's body had actually been a blessing in disguise. Now, as Ducky watched the former Marine begin fighting off the last dregs of the sedative he'd been given and slowly stirring back to wakefulness, his concern for his friend's state of mind was evident. They'd all been leery about making the final decision about the tags without Gibbs' input and they all certainly knew how adversely DiNozzo, himself, felt about the subject but, as Gustafson had so succintly expressed after listening to the disturbing reports and the terminal prognosis, what would it hurt? And that, in a nutshell, was what everyone had agreed upon: in the long run, what *would* it hurt?
Ducky sighed and scooted the straight-backed chair he was sitting in a bit closer to the armchair Gibbs was still sprawled upon and reached to place his hand on the other man's closest forearm, immediately feeling the twitch of the muscles beneath his fingertips. He crooked a grin and gently shook the arm.
"Jethro? I think if you try a bit harder, I do believe you'll be able to open your eyes. Come on, give it a try...open your eyes for me."
There was another twitch, in a leg this time, and the sound of a soft rumble from deep within Gibbs' chest. The head rolled slightly against the high back of the thickly-padded seat but the eyes resolutely remained closed. Ducky sighed again, moved his hand upwards, and proceeded to tap Gibbs'cheek a few times, the harder touch producing a small scowl and another, deeper, rumble.
"I know you would like to continue sleeeping, Jethro, and the good Lord knows you deserve a few more hours of blissful unconsciousness but you really need to wake up now." He tapped the cheek again and wasn't in the least surprised when his hand was quickly captured in Gibbs' grip, the blue eyes finally slitting open to peer irately at the offending digits. "Ah, there you are. Happy to see you're back with us again. Tell me, how are you feeling?"
Gibbs' eyes tracked slowly to his friend's face and he released Ducky's fingers, moving both of his hands to brace against the arms of the chair so he could begin to push himself into a more up-right position. He tested his responses and blinked sluggishly at the lethargic feel of his body, arching his back and twisting his head from side to side. There was a moment of quiet confusion and silent questions and, when the blue eyes rose and returned to focus on the ME's face, Ducky knew Gibbs was collecting his thoughts and reviewing his actions prior to the current situation. The 'click' as the memories resurfaced was almost audible and the keen eyes instantly tracked over to the bed on the other side of the room.
"Tony..." Gibbs had to clear his throat and he gratefully accepted a mug pressed into his hands, eyes still on the bed as he took a swallow of dark, strong coffee before he tried again. "Tony was dying, Duck..."
"I know, I know," the ME was reaching to take the slightly trembling cup as Gibbs pushed unsteadily up to his feet and started toward the bed. He joined Gibbs and quietly tried to fill in the worrisome, empty gaps. "We almost lost him but he seems to be holding steady right now. You wouldn't let him go when we needed to get to him, so we had to sedate you."
If Gibbs hadn't been focused on DiNozzo so intently, he might have responded to and questioned Ducky's confessed method of removing him from DiNozzo's side but, as it was, he merely nodded and redirected the conversation. "He's holding steady? I don't understand..."
"Jethro," Ducky placed a hand on Gibbs' arm to garner more of his attention, "we almost lost him and, if it hadn't been for Roberta's fine handling of defbrillator and Tobias' working knowledge of CPR, he would have been dead. He remained stable for a short while and then just declined rapidly again. We didn't know what else to do and we couldn't wait for you to awaken, so we went ahead and put the transmitting devices back into his body."
*That* captured Gibbs' full attention and he swung around, easily casting the ME's hand from his arm, and settling a hard, disbelieving glare on the older man. He shook his head slightly in negation.
"No," he whispered ferally and took a step closer to Ducky, "tell me you didn't do that to him. Tell me."
Ducky sighed but stood straight and didn't try to deny the obvious. "Yes, we did. We didn't know what else to do..."
"He didn't want them back in," Gibbs hissed in frustration and turned away from his old friend, moving to the side of the bed and sinking very carefully until he was seated next to the slumbering young man. He didn't want to have this conversation now, not with DiNozzo here...alive and breathing. Hesitantly, he reached to cautiously touch the limp hand resting atop the sheet, careful to avoid the IV line. "Tell me," he swallowed the bitterness that rose in his throat and tried again. "Tell me where you put them."
"I'll show you instead," Ducky offered softly and moved to the opposite side of the mattress, deftly easing the light blanket and sheet down and exposing DiNozzo's bare, uncovered torso. He pointed, first, to a small, square patch high on the left arm. "None of them are in their original positions and we placed them where they would be less likely to irriate. This one was originally located under his scalp behind his ear." His hand continued to move downward and hovered over the smooth, flat belly. "This one...well, let's just say it's found a better home," he ignored Gibbs' slight twitch and shifted his hand further downward, fingers floating past the genitals and thighs, stopping over the right knee, "and this one was from the ankle area. We made sure to place the devices fairly close to their initial positions but kept Anthony's comfort foremost in our minds. They were placed under local anesthesia, he felt absolutely no pain, and he's resting comfortably now. There was minimal bleeding and each incision needed only a few stitches apiece to close."
Gibbs'anxious, irratated thoughts slowly settled as Ducky talked, his eyes alert and taking in every inch of DiNozzo's frail, exposed body. The assorted tubes and wires were still present, as was a new oxygen mask, and the former Marine tilted his head slightly to one side as he examined it. Reaching out with a fingertip to gently touch the clear cup resting over DiNozzo's mouth and nose, his silent question was immediately answered.
"His oxygen level was dreadfully low, so Roberta and I decided to get the mask on him instead. It must be helping because the levels have been slowly climbing ever since." Ducky reached to pull the covering back over the younger man's form but Gibbs stopped him instantly with an outstretched arm. The ME's confusion was apparent. "Jethro?"
Gibbs could only shake his head and, after a few moments of quite, intense appraisal, he allowed Ducky to tuck DiNozzo back under the linens, his sure hands smoothing out wrinkles and carefully keeping all monitoring devices free and clear of crimps or snags. Tenderly, Gibbs took DiNozzo's slack right hand into his grasp and twined his fingers between the smaller digits, still very cognizant of the cool flesh and lack of response.
"I know you don't want to hear this," Ducky eased to sit on the other side of the patient and eyed Gibbs warily, "but we didn't believe we had any other choice at the time. He was slipping away...again...and we all thought it was worth a try."
"He didn't want them," the stubborn words were just as quiet as before but a lot less angry now.
Ducky sighed. "No, he didn't, but since they've been back in he's gotten somewhat stronger."
That got Gibbs' attention. He turned his head and fixed his gaze on his old friend.
"Stronger...since they've been back in. Ducky, just how long was I out?"
The ME twisted slightly and removed his pocket watch, peering intently at the face. "Hhmm, let's see...I'd say just a little over five hours."
"Five hours?" Gibbs was surprised...and slightly appalled. "Ducky, I should have never slept like..."
"You were exhausted," Ducky interrupted smoothly, "and, if I could have allowed you a longer rest, I would have gladly done it. Be that as it may, you need to remember you *were* given a sedative. I don't believe your body had much of a choice in the matter. Now," he braced his hands against his knees and rose from the bed, "I think you could do with some food and maybe a bit more coffee before you meet Doctor Gustafson and the two fellows Captain Bradley is holding for you. I believe he thinks you'd like to ask them a few questions before they're escorted on to Washington."
"Wait," Gibbs rose, too, but put a hand to his forehead and paused, confusion ghosting across his features once more, "Gustafson?"
"The CDC representative," Ducky assured and rounded the bed, coming to stand directly in front of the perplexed man. "I thought Tobias and Daniel told you of his arrival...and of the two intruders."
Gibbs slowly began to recall the conversation with the two men earlier in the day, remembering his anger at seeing Fornell at the door, but was still concerned with DiNozzo's condition. "You never answered my question. You think he's improving because of the tags?"
It was an honest question, delivered without heat or accusation, and it was easy to see Gibbs was trying to come to terms with all that had transpired since he'd been sedated and unceremoniously dumped in the corner like a pair of old, worn-out sneakers. The aging ME nodded and looked down on his sleeping patient, aware that Gibbs was mirroring his stance.
"I have no way to be sure of anything at this point," he confessed with the barest hint of self-reproach, "but it didn't take long for us to notice a slight improvement shortly after they were reinserted." Ducky crossed his arms over his chest and brought a hand to his chin, obviously trying to think through Gibbs' question logically. "I'm not going to lie to you about this, Jethro. Neither Roberta nor I can explain what's happening but there are small signs that point directly to that conclusion: oxygen saturation, blood pressure, electrolytes, kidney output, glucose levels...all are still dangerously low but all have shown a slight bit of improvement. His lungs are still fairly fragile, hence the continued use of the mask, but there just doesn't seem to be any other viable answer for what we're seeing. It *has* to be because of the devices."
Gibbs let the information roll about in his head as he continued his visual assessment. There did seem to be a bit more color in DiNozzo's cheeks and the steady rise and fall of the thin chest was a huge relief: no hitched breathing or soft grunts of pain or other rough sounds of discomfort...just the gentle inhale and exhale of normal breathing.
"You think..." Gibbs was hesitant to voice what was swirling around in his head and beating frantically against the inside of his chest but he just had to inquire, "you think he'll be all right now?"
Ducky leaned to the side and let his arm brush lightly against Gibbs' "I have no way to answer that for you right now, Jethro. That his heart rhythm has decided to creep back into the barely-normal range gives me hope but, honestly, I just..."
"I know, Duck," Gibbs cut him off gently, immediately contrite for putting his friend on the spot. It was obvious they were all still baffled by DiNozzo's physical condition and, although the RFIDs continued to be a danger because of their transmitting capabilities, they also seemed directly related to his continuing survival.
A soft knock at the door drew their attention and, before Gibbs could cross the room to release the lock, the handle was turning and the door was slowly opening. Gibbs instinctively reached toward the gun on his hip but was quickly stopped by the ME.
"No, Jethro!" Ducky's words halted Gibbs' action but the blue eyes locked and never wavered from the opening door. As an unfamiliar man stepped into the room and then froze in place by the expression he saw on the NCIS agent's face, Ducky rushed to explain. "This is Thomas Gustafson, from the CDC. He arrived earlier this afternoon and was escorted in by the Marines. Please, Thomas," he spoke now to the startled man, "it's all right to come the rest of the way in."
The hesitation and disbelief were still evident as Gustafson eyed Gibbs' sour expression. "Are...are you sure, Doctor Mallard? I could just come back later."
"No, no, no...it's perfectly fine," he assured and then directed his explanation toward his younger, and still suspicious, colleague. "It was decided we could relax our level of alertness within the lodge. With those two intruders being held by Captian Bradley and the rest of the Marine unit rotating watches for further signs of trouble, we decided locking the door to this room was unnecessary. In all honesty, it always caused a needless interruption if one of us was involved with young Anthony's care and we had to stop to respond to a knock on the door." He smiled at Gibbs but wasn't concerned when he didn't receive one back. "This is so much easier and, really, there's no one inside the lodge that needs to be barred from this room."
Gibbs listened to the explanation, his mind immediately flashing to Fornell, and had to force himself relax...and take a good look at this CDC representative. With keen eyes sweeping the figure from head to foot, all Gibbs could think of was 'average'. Average height, average weight, avereage coloring...just plain average looking, all the way around. There was nothing notable or remarkable and, as far as the former Marine was concerned, just another unnecessary person to have around in the lodge. Gibbs frowned but nodded in Gustafson's direction.
"Seems you made the trip all for nothing, Doctor Gustafson. There's no communicable diseases happening around here."
"Well, it certainly appears that way," Gustafson agreed with a small, tenuous smile and then shifted his eyes toward the more friendly face of the ME, shifting his briefcase from one hand to the other before speaking. "Doctor Mallard..."
"Ducky. Please," the older man insisted.
Gustafsom smiled a bit wider and nodded. "All right, if you insist. Ducky. Um, Doctor Wainwright wanted you downstairs to look at something she found on the internet, I think." He frowned and shrugged. "I'm not sure but since I was coming up here to take a look at Agent DiNozzo's charts and get the rest of my paperwork finished, I told her I would inform you of her request."
"Hhmm," Ducky frowned for a moment, "I wonder what it could be?"
"I have no idea, "Gustafson shook his head, not realizing Ducky hadn't actually expected a response. He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "She seemed a bit anxious."
"I suppose I should go and see what she wants," Ducky's face cleared and he looked at Gibbs. "She did draw more blood recently so maybe it has something to do with that."
"Duck," Gibbs spoke low, "I need to talk to Bradley and the two he's holding for me but I don't want to leave DiNozzo alone."
"Yes, quite right," the older man agreed, eyes swinging back toward the bed. "He needs to have someone with him at all times now...until we know he's really out of danger."
Gibbs looked in that direction, too, pleased to see his young lover sleeping on. His eyes rose to the bank of monitors and he studied them for a few moments, the soft hisses and quiet beeps almost imperceptible in the large room. If all went well, those damn machines could be disconnected and turned off for good soon.
"Well, I was just going to examine his charts," Gustafson was speaking quietly, still by the open doorway, "but if Agent DiNozzo needs someone to sit with him, I suppose I could just read and do the paperwork here. I don't mind...and by the looks of it, I don't think he's going to be waking up any time soon anyway."
Both Gibbs and Ducky turned back to the CDC doctor but it was the former Marine who spoke first. "No offense, Gustafson, but I don't know you from Adam."
Gustafson merely nodded and shrugged again. "Fine by me. I can concentrate more if I'm by myself anyway."
Gibbs was turning to face his friend, immediately ignoring the man by the door. "I'll send McGee up."
"He and your forensics tech have been head to head over a computer keyboard downstairs for almost an hour now, Agent Gibbs," the CDC rep was speaking again and he unconsciously took a step back when Gibbs's cool gaze resettled on him. "They've been working on identifying those other two men the Marines brought in and I think they wanted some of your time, too."
Gibbs let his eyes skim over the man once more. "Then, I'll just have Ziva..."
He didn't have the opportunity to complete his response before Gustafson was interrupting. "Uh, she's with Agent Fornell and Mister Dunn. Outside. I think they've been speaking to those men." He swallowed audibly when Gibbs scowled but pushed on. "Now, if you don't mind, if I can just have those charts, I can get out of the way and finish my report."
Gibbs was silent as he continued to regard the stranger. He didn't like this but knew both he and Ducky needed to be out of the room. He watched Gustafson shift nervously from foot to foot and adjust his grip on his attache case, the long fingers clutching the smooth handle tightly. Gibbs slowly lifted his chin toward the small case.
"What's in there?"
Gustafson scowled now and bristled sharply. "Oh, good Lord! Just take it," he walked forward and unceremoniously shoved the small, brown valise into Gibbs' hands, surprising the man instantly. "I'm so tired of everyone here all but accusing me of being some kind of criminal, hiding some kind of weapon or mysterious implement or God knows what else inside there. Between Agent Fornell and those damn Marines outside...and now *you*...pawing through all my forms and documents, I'll be lucky if I end up with one, whole sheet left intact when this assignment is completed!"
Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the unexpected outburst and came damn near backhanding the attitude right off the unhappy face scowling at him but, instead, chose to let the man's precious case fall from his grasp to land on the floor near his feet, the edge hitting just right to snap the latch open and spill the contents across the hardwood. He glanced casually down at the mess and then lifted his cool gaze to stare unemotionally at the sputtering, outraged CDC rep.
"Oops," Gibbs deadpanned perfectly.
Gustafson appeared to be preparing himself for one hell of a coronary, eyes wide with disbelief, face changing to a nice shade of red, and his fists balled tightly at his sides. "You...you...you did that on purpose!"
"Gentlemen," Ducky wisely deflected any forthcoming words or actions by physically placing his shorter stature directly between the two men. He placed a hand on Gibbs' chest and spoke up to his friend, even though the former Marine continued to glare at Gustafson over Ducky's head. "Jethro, go speak with Captain Bradley and I'll handle things here. Please."
It was easy to see Gibbs didn't want to leave the confrontation but he knew he had more important things to take care of at the moment than posturing with some snarly CDC doctor. He dropped his gaze to settle on his ME and offered the shorter man a cocky grin.
"Sure, Duck...whatever you say."
Raising his eyes one final time, and making sure his path to the door took him directly through the pool of Gustafson's paperwork, Gibbs cast a lingering look back toward DiNozzo and then briskly exited the room, carefully closing the door after him. It wasn't a grand exit but it sufficed in delivering his message.
"Well!" Gustafson sputtered in indignation as the door closed, his face livid with rage, "of all the arrogant, simple-minded..."
"Thomas," Ducky quickly cut in and bent to start retrieving the scattering of papers, "let's just get this together and I'll let you look at Anthony's charts. You can take them somewhere else or you're more than welcome to use the desk over in the far corner."
Gustafson glanced down. The ME was stooped over and reaching for the tossed papers, stacking them carefully as he went along and mumbling something under his breath about Gibbs' over-protective nature and good heart. Ducky's head was angled down and the words weren't easy to understand but Gustafson knew he it didn't matter...Jethro Gibbs could go straight to hell as far as he was concerned.
In fact, they *all* could go straight to hell...starting with Doctor Mallard.
Bending at the waist and reaching to snag the handle of his discarded briefcase, Gustafson carefully snapped the lid closed, swung it up into a wide, graceful arc, and brought it solidly down against the unsuspecting ME's head, one, sharp-angled corner impacting solidly with a dull, sickening thud and dropping the older man instantly to the floor. Gustafson blinked down at the downed man, waited several seconds to see if there was going to be any further movement and, when there was none, finally raised his eyes just enough to stare at the figure resting on the bed across the room from under his lashes, his gaze turning dark and predatory.
Without another thought to the older man, Gustafson stepped over the still body sprawled atop the ripped and twisted collection of DCD forms and quietly crossed the small distance, moving until he stood directly beside DiNozzo's sleeeping form. Eyes raking over the boyish face, Gustafson leaned close, lips mere inches from the younger man's mouth, and studied the pale, smooth features: so peaceful, so serene, so blissfully unaware of the danger...and so very, very stupid.
"Thought you could get away, didn't you?" He whispered mockingly. gently setting the briefcase on the mattress and thumbing the catch back open. "You should have known better."
Using a fingernail to pick at the edge of one of the hinges holding the back of the case together, Gustafson slowly withdrew the slender securing pin from its housing and brought it away from the slot, a sly, feral grin forming as he examined the thin, innocuous piece of metal. His eyes slid toward the peaceful face and he leaned close again, bringing his mouth against the closest ear.
"Emilio sends his regards...and his regrets."
____________________________________________
Gibbs' gaze swept over the lone man sitting in the hard, straight-backed chair in the corner of the Marine's compact Mess tent as soon as he entered and glanced quickly to the woman at his side. He could tell the prisoner's hands were secured behind his body and knew the Marine standing guard just to one side was keeping close watch over everything, ready to pull his sidearm in a moment's notice.
"Where's the other one?" He asked the dark-haired woman.
Ziva David nodded as she removed her standard NCIS cap and jerked her head back in the direction they'd just come. "Captian Bradley thought it best to keep them separated until you had the chance to speak with them. The other is under guard near the latrines...taking in the sunshine. Fornell is with him."
Gibbs grunted his approval and shot David an approving grin, glad to know his team was still doing their jobs effiently, and then refocused on the recently captured intruder in the chair. "This one say anything yet?"
"Nothing important," she looked at the man in question, keeping her expression blank, "though a little sunshine might help loosen up his tongue, too."
Gibbs nodded and gave David another sideways look. "You have your knife on you?"
"Of course."
There'd been no hesitation in the young woman's reply and Gibbs knew she would be more than willing to do a little 'interrogation' of her own, if asked, but he wasn't about to resort to that method...not just yet. But, as he thought of what he'd just read in the brief dockets collected by Abby and McGee concerning the two trespassers, he was sorely tempted to just let her do a little harmless carving to put the prisoners in the right frame of mind.
Gripping the slim folders housing the information from Abby and McGee, Gibbs moved away from the entryway and headed straight for the seated man, keeping his eyes locked on the passive face and seeing no indication of fear or worry in the cold, oddly mud-colored eyes. He knew David was keeping her position by the entrance because the prisoner's gaze shifted her way before resettling on Gibbs.
The small table and chair placed before the prisoner had been set up precisely for Gibbs' use and the former Marine went straight for it, dropping the two, slim folders to the surface and eyeing the sneering, seated man carefully. He needed to keep his focus now, to put all personal feelings aside, but it was damn difficult when he now knew who'd actually sent the two men to Texas...and why.
"Carlo Sabatini," he began levelly, seeing the dark eyes widen momentarily in surprise before growing cold and shuttered again. "You're certainly far away from your usual stomping grounds. Maybe you can clear some things up for me."
"I doubt that," the bound man scoffed and raised his chin in defiance, eyes sweeping back over to where David still stood, "but I wouldn't mind doing a little exploring with that one." His gaze dropped to the hollow of her throat where her necklace lay. "Whattaya say, little Jew girl? Wanna come over here and sit on my lap?"
The woman's eyes flashed dangerously and she took a small step in his direction, barely stopping when Gibbs' commanding voice brought her up short. "Ziva!"
She paused but kept her cold eyes on the man, deftly slipping a slender dagger from the holder at the back of her waist, and bringing it into plain view. She held the wicked-looking blade toward the seated man and pointing it purposefully toward his crotch, twisting her wrist and flicking the sharp, deadly point swiftly upward. The Marine on guard coughed quietly at the unmistakable gesture, almost disguising his laugh, and the prisoner blinked in shocked surprise, quickly averting his eyes away from the woman and her dangerous weapon.
"Seems you've been a very busy man," Gibbs continued when Sabatini's attention returned and he thumbed open the slim folder resting atop the other, breaking eye contact just long enough to scan the meager contents. "Assault with a deadly weapon, armed robbery, assorted muggings...and it seems you were in the Alexandria area recently, just outside DC."
"Hey, you know...I get around," the cockiness returned and his gaze swept, unbelievably, toward David again. "I've been to a lot of places in my life. Plan to go to a lot more real soon."
Gibbs didn't respond to the ridiculous statement but, instead, pulled out a single photo, silently thanking Abby and McGee for remaining so focused on their work and compiling all that had in such a short amount of time. "Recognize this?"
Sabatini looked relunctantly away from the woman and let his eyes drop to the photo on the table, eyebrows slanting down for a moment as he tried to make heads or tails of what he was being shown. "You're kidding me, right? I don't even know what the fuck I'm looking at."
Gibbs nodded his understanding. "I can see where you might find it a bit difficult. It's just a photo of a small, insignificant scrap of plastic...not much to look at and certainly not very remarkable."
He stopped and fixed his hard gaze on Sabatini's face and just watched silently for a few moments. The man stared back, smirk shifting, as Gibbs proiduced another slip of paper.
"Not remarkable except for one thing," he pointed to the sheaf of paper. "This."
Sabatini scowled again. "Look, I don't know what the fuck you want but I..."
"It's your finger print," Gibbs interrupted quickly, tone going cold.
"So? One of those jarheads took my prints when I got here and..."
"This print," Gibbs pointed again, "came from that small, insignificant scrap of plastic ...which was found at a crime scene on the far outskirts of Alexandria, where the decomposing remains of two bodies were found." He paused briefly to study the man before him and pushed his own personal feelings away. "One has been positively identified as the owner of an up-scale hair salon and the other was that of NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard."
Sabatini blinked, hard, and then shifted his eyes down and away, refusing to meet the agent's hard, piercing gaze. He squirmed a bit on the rigid chair and then visibly forced himself to relax, the once-cocky, self-assured smirk never achieving its original effect. When his eyes finally returned to face the man sitting behind the table, Sabatini just shrugged a shoulder in casual indifference.
"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
Gibbs continued to stare. Sabatini was obviously not the brains behind the venture and, therefore, not the one with the most information but it would be worth the time to see just how far he could get with this this sorry sack of shit before beginning his interrogation of the man being kept out in the late afternoon sun. If the information McGee and Abby had collected was correct, and there was no reason to doubt it wasn't, these two were nothing more than the strong-armed goons of a very powerful and extremely wealthy person...a person Gibbs wanted to nail, balls to the wall.
"You probably realize now the Federal authorities in DC are anxious to get their hands on you. If I'm not mistaken, there's even a transport flying in tonight to take you and," Gibbs glanced briefly at the other folder under his fist, "Salvatore Amato back for questioning. Very anxious."
"I don't know nothing," Sabatini reiterated, the sneer slipping a bit more.
"What were you and Amato doing out here?" Gibbs quickly shifted gears.
"Uh...," there was a lie forming, "...hunting."
"What?" Gibbs asked quickly.
"What?" Sabatini scowled, clearly confused. "What the fuck do you mean 'what'?"
Gibbs leaned his elbows nonchalantly on the table and spoke slowly and clearly, like an adult to a dull child. "What were you hunting?"
"Oh. Um..." another blatant, stumbling untruth began, "...rabbits."
The response was so absurd, the Marine by the door coughed again, and Gibbs could only shake his head at the stupidity. He allowed his gaze to flick toward David and saw her stunned, open-mouthed expression. When her dark gaze found his, her eyes said it all: how could anyone be so ignorant?
"You hunt rabbit often, Mister Sabatini?" He asked when his eyes returned to the bound man.
"Oh, yeah," he bragged, chin raising smugly. "Whenever I can."
"Always use an assault rifle when you go?"
The chilled, softly-voiced inquiry wiped a bit of the arrogance away and the brown eyes swiftly darted from side to side. Gibbs tilted his head slightly and stared at Sabatini.
"Someone sent you and Amato out here for a reason," he all but whispered, "just as he sent you out to murder Director Shepard. You see, the thing is, the person you've come out here to find and kill is one of my own agents," he looked over toward the woman by the door, "and one of Officer David's close colleagues. You were lucky, for awhile, alluding the authorities in Alexandria but, now, you've been caught...here...with me and Officer David."
Sabatini raised his gaze at the sharp, dangerous edge to Gibbs' voice and he looked directly into the eyes of a man consumed with simmering rage. The blue was glittering, cold, like chips of ice in that hard, stormy face, and Sabatini didn't doubt he was being openly threatened. He swallowed thickly and glanced swiftly toward the doorway, shocked to see the Marine guard was now gone, leaving him alone with these two intimidating people and, to make matters worse, the woman was advancing slowly with her knife drawn, pointing directly toward his face.
"I...I don't know nothing," he stammered, eyes sweeping back and forth from the man behind the table to the woman and her weapon.
"Who sent you out here?" Gibbs asked calmly, eyes on the name contained within each folder. "Come on, it will be so much easier...and much less painful if you just tell us his name."
Sabatini swallowed again and struggled in his seat, eyes staying now on David's knife. "I...I...don't know..."
Gibbs could tell the man's resolve was wavering. All Sabatini had to do was say the name...say the name...and they would have their connection. It was right there, in black and white, on the paper.
The knife was closer now, hovering just over Sabatini's face, the sharp, wicked end pointing right directly toward his right eye, like an arrow aimed at a bull's eye. Gibbs watched the man squirm, arms pulling against the zip cuffs binding his wrists behind the chair, and knew he was getting close to breaking.
'Say the name.'
The tip of the blade was sharp and clean...and deadly. Getting closer and closer.
'Say the name,' Gibbs prompted silently, sitting like a casual observer. 'Franklin Wilson-Halley is our only connection to Martinez. Just say his fucking name...'
David's blade was hovering close, her hand steady, her aim true. She would take out an eye with the flick of her wrist and think nothing of it.
'Say the name.'
"Okay! Okay!" Sabatini all but screamed as the tip of the blade was pressed gently to the closed eyelid, the fragile skin barely punctured. "I'll tell you! I'll fucking tell you! Just...just stop..."
"Tell us," Gibbs gritted and wauted. "Say the name."
Sabatini panted and huffed and stalled a second more until the blade bit the eylid again, nicking with more pressure, bringing a bead of blood welling to the surface of the flesh. He screamed anew and shouted out the name.
"Michael DiNozzo! Michael DiNozzo sent us!"
TBC
Author's Chapter Notes:
With the tags back in place, things seem to be looking up for DiNozzo.