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mrwubbles3/7:
Warnings and/or Spoilers: Vague spoilers up to 6X02 "Agent Afloat"
previous parts: master post | part one | part two
| part three |
There was blood under his nails.
Gibbs noticed it when his fingers curled around his Sig as he cleared another hallway. Blood, still bright enough to gleam, still fresh enough to make his nostrils flare with the iron-rich tang of copper and life.
The farther he got from the morgue, the more his insides knotted, like he was straying too far from the green zone, too far from the border of friendlies. He shouldn't feel like he wished for camouflage netting in his own goddamn building.
With the phone lines down, there wasn't even a walkie talkie to check upstairs on whether or not they had found the shooter. Shooter. No name. A name would make it personal. Personal makes people screw up. Gibbs couldn't allow screw-ups today. Especially not today.
The blood under his nails was starting to turn brown. It shouldn't, but he could feel his skin begin to itch.
Right about now, as Gibbs crept down the corridors, DiNozzo would mention some movie this reminded him of, say something in the earwig that would make Gibbs' teeth grate and his right palm itch to swat his senior agent's head. He used it to fill space, DiNozzo's version of a boat in the basement and Gibbs understood that. It still annoyed the hell out of him though.
No movie references today. No head slaps either.
Gibbs' teeth ground together and there was a dull bolt of pain in his jaw. He could feel the corner of his right eye twitch in return.
Where the hell was McGee?
Two more minutes of slinking along the walls, Gibbs got his answer in a way he didn't expect.
There was a muffled pounding from the direction of Abby's lab. He recognized it as her lab's internal alarms. Gibbs turned the corner a lot faster than his training would recommend. He stopped short, his gun still up chest level. McGee's back was toward him, facing the glass door that led to the lab. Abby looked like she was mirroring McGee. Sort of.
Abby saw Gibbs arrive and she waved a gloved hand.
McGee spun around with his gun gripped in one hand, a tiny evidence bag in the other.
"You need to watch your six," Gibbs said as he lowered his gun. He raised an eyebrow at Abby. She stared right at him through the glass door, her palms pressed flat to the glass, high above her head, shoulder width apart. She looked like one of those damn toys suction-cupped in people's rear car windows.
"We're uh...locked out or, well, Abby's locked in." McGee gestured.
Abby had her nose pressed against the glass as well now.
"Yeah, McGee, I can see that." Gibbs nodded at the evidence bag McGee was holding.
"Abby can't run full ballistics on this, so we're scanning the bullets two dimensionally."
Abby, on cue, hauled up what Gibbs recognized as her scanner, its lid missing.
"We've used the flatbed through the glass and she'll reconstruct the images in her laptop."
"Laptop?" Gibbs scowled. He could see the computers behind Abby dark and silent.
"Her systems were connected to our servers, boss. She's shut down as well. She's reconnected to the main power, but we can't get the doors open and her alarms..." McGee winced. "How's Tony?"
Even though McGee's back was to Abby now, she seemed to have sensed the question. Her dark eyes shot to Gibbs' face, her mouth crinkled downward at the corners.
Gibbs met her gaze and very slowly, gave his response. "Ducky's got him."
It was all he could afford to say.
It was enough for Abby because she straightened, her mouth moving, but then she scowled toward the ceiling at the klaxons and stamped her feet.
"Boss." McGee fumbled out his phone for some reason. "The alarms were so loud we couldn't talk, but we've been communicating with tex—"
Tony's going to be fine, Gibbs signed to Abby.
"That could work, too," McGee finished meekly.
Gibbs's eyes darted quickly over the flurry of fingers replying.
I can't get into the computers but I think with my laptop hooked into the hard drives, use the combined cache, maybe I'll able to do limited AFIS from previous searches and—
Gibbs held up a hand and Abby stilled.
Just do it. I want to know everything we can.
Abby saluted and McGee smiled faintly. He never knew what they said, but it wasn't important. He got the gist.
"Have you seen any other agents?" Gibbs asked.
McGee shook his head. "I saw Gands on the stairwell when I came down, but no one in the halls. All the office doors are locked, too, so Albert couldn't have hidden in any. I tried to call Ziva before but nothing." McGee looked like he was tempted to throw his phone. "Boss, this is more than a lockdown. Not even the internal phones are working right." McGee gestured toward Abby, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor doing...something to her laptop and scanner. "Abby tried her phones and one minute she gets Vance, the next she gets Legal. It's hit or miss."
Gibbs's lips thinned as he stared hard down the corridor leading to the stairs, its exit sign glowing red in the distance. It wasn't SOP for internal communication to be out in a lockdown, no matter what the level. By now, SecNav would have sent a response team who would have no idea there wasn't a real bio-weapon threat in here. Why? Why the lockdown?
A quick rap on the glass caught Abby's eye and she leapt to her feet with an ease he normally envied.
How much you think you can get out of your laptop? Gibbs regretted his question as that incited a slew of signing that made her look like she was having a fit.
McGee inched closer with a frown, but to his credit, he was turned halfway toward the unguarded hallway, hand resting on his hip holster.
"Get me as much as you can from those bullets and see what she can remember about..." Gibbs clenched his jaw.
"Albert?" McGee supplied, but blanched at Gibbs's glower.
"Albert," Gibbs repeated tightly. "I want to know his background, if he has the skills to create a lockdown like this, how the hell he managed to bypass Security to get a weapon in here—"
"Boss, we're not in the network. All Abby could do is...ah..." McGee visibly swallowed when Gibbs stared at him. "Well, Abby was thinking she could probably jury-rig some sort of Wi-Fi antenna to boost her cell phone and get through to some—Ah, on it, boss." McGee stuttered to a halt and began typing out his idea, because Gibbs sure as hell wasn't going to try and sign that to Abby.
Abby nodded as she glanced down through the glass to read what McGee was typing. After a few lines, she looked up and mouthed four words, "Get who did this."
Gibbs didn't bother nodding. Abby already knew his answer.
* * * * *
Instead of sugar, Ziva poured salt in Tony's cappuccino.
As she stood there waiting for her order to be filled, Ziva realized she had the cotton pulled over her eyes. Tony had tricked her into making the coffee run.
She muttered darkly in Hebrew as she threw the change from the ridiculously priced drinks into the dented plastic cup earmarked for tips. The cashier (barbie, barter, something) cringed before telling her to have a nice day.
Ziva stomped out of the coffeehouse, the tray of coffees sloshing in her grip. She set the coffees down on one of their outdoor tables when her cellphone buzzed an alert. She was still grumbling to herself when she pulled it out. Her words died as she read the text on her screen.
NCIS.HQ ALERT: SEC LCKDWN IN PROGRESS. ALL AVAIL AGENTS EAST GATE.
Ziva was down the block, zipping around honking cars before she remembered she'd left the coffees behind.
* * * * *
The East Gate, furthest from the Navy Yard's front gate and housing the visitors' parking lot, was already crowded with agents who had been out that morning. They were arguing with someone in full battle gear.
Ziva barely glanced at his assault rifle as she elbowed agents to reach him.
"What has happened?" Ziva demanded at the Marine perched at the gate. She could hear a helicopter flying high above them and recognized the deep, rhythmic tempo of the rotary blades of a military craft.
"You can't come in, ma'am. I advise you to stand back."
"I work here. We all do!" Ziva shouted above the screeching of jeeps braking behind them. Boots thundered past them, soldiers swarming the few cars parked in the lot, long wands with mirrors shoved underneath as the bottoms of cars were visually swept. Others tugged the leashes of large regal-looking dogs, like the ones who had been trained in the compound when she was a child.
"Lockdown!" The Marine nodded to someone behind her and he barked in his radio that air samples were being collected. Air samples?
"What's the nature of the lockdown?" Another agent pressed forward next to her. Ziva vaguely remembered him on the desk behind Agent Hanks.
"All we know is a Level Four lockdown was alerted to all departments at 1050," the Marine answered, "but no further communication has been possible."
Ziva set her jaw. She tightened the grip on her phone and stared past the parking lot toward the low, red brick building in the distance.
* * * * *
It made sense to go down to the basement level. What better way to beat a computer than with a floor full of the country's best tech agents?
Tim watched Gibbs dart toward one corner and drop into a crouch. The senior agent peered around it, his eyes narrow, his mouth grim, then gave Tim a small nod.
At the nod, Tim hurried to the opposite corner, making sure to remain stealthy. He grimaced. It still felt like they were making too much noise. Even his breathing sounded loud in his ears, but Gibbs never gave him anything more than short nods after each check of a door.
Tim copied Gibbs, balanced on the balls of his feet and peered around the wall edge. "Clear," he mouthed.
Gibbs acknowledged with a jerk of his head.
They alternated, corner to corner, door to door; Gibbs faced one way down the hallway, Tim aimed his gun the opposite direction. Tim wondered why he never realized just how many doors were in this place. Was the basement this big before? Had it always been this dark? What a stupid place to store thirty-nine mainfr—
Gunshot.
Together, they jerked, slammed their backs to the walls they were positioned against. The short bark had come from the main area, all the way down, three long corridors down. Tim was very aware how there was only two of them. Just two. Tim wished Tony was here. He was the better shot. He had hit the bulls-eye five times at the range, then teased Ziva about it all day when she'd only gotten four.
Tim bit the inside of his cheek, letting the sharp pain bring him back to focus. The echoes of gunfire had logically faded, but there was a ringing in his ears and he thought he could hear screaming again, like when he had jumped on top of Tony to protect him.
His gun aimed high for a clear shot, Tim trailed behind his boss as they followed the hallways down to the main room. He saw Gibbs's spine stiffen and like Pavlov's dog with his bell, he reacted by hugging the wall again, even before Gibbs's arm shot out to push him back.
The room was dark, save a few squares of flickering light. Just enough to see a man standing in the center of the room.
"Hands where I can see them!" Gibbs shouted. "Hands!"
Even though Tim had been expecting it, he still jumped at the hard order cutting through the hum of computers. Wait. Computers? But that meant...
"Lower your weapons! It's Gands!"
Peeking around the corner, Tim saw the towering agent, his hands in the air, his service weapon hanging loosely off a finger in a clear sign of zero threat.
"Did you see him?" Gibbs snapped as he lowered his gun and steered right for—
Oh no.
The curly brown hair and stupid yellow suspenders Tim had always made fun of him for were immediate markers. Tim lowered his gun and stared in dismay at the body by Gands' feet. He was thankful it was facedown. Tim didn't need to see to know who it was.
"I was checking this floor's exit when I heard the shot." Gands shook his head even as he holstered his gun. "By the time I got here, the kid was dead."
"It's Joe Walters." Tim swallowed. "He works—worked the security filters here. Where's..." He swiveled his eyes left and right. There were eight desks, all empty. "Jennings, Stetson, Jones, uh..." The other names escaped him for the moment. Tim stared at Walters. He looked away when he realized the two closely clustered shots on his back were creating a red halo around him. He never should have mocked Walters when he had been assigned to work down here. And the stupid thought that he still owed Walter six bucks for lunch was squashed immediately.
A rattling and muffled shouting alerted Gands and Gibbs.
Tim tensed as he watched the two agents approached the server room near the rear. Tim raised his gun just as Gibbs slowly curled a hand around the door handle. From here, he could see Gands mouthing down a count, "Three, two, one."
With an abrupt yank, Gibbs opened the door and, together, Gands and Gibbs pointed their guns into the room. Tim gripped his gun with both hands and he nearly tripped over the Walters' legs as he fought to stay in position.
"It's the techs," Gands announced as he straightened. "Duct-taped and tied up like presents, but they're alive."
"Seven of them," Gibbs reported as he scanned the room.
"Lucky seven," Gands grunted.
Tim pulled his foot back a little when he saw how close he was to the blood pool surrounding Walters. "Yeah," he said numbly, his eyes on the checkered shirt and stained suspenders. "Lucky."
* * * * *
The fact that one workstation was still on didn't seem to make things better.
Tim could hear Gibbs interviewing the rest of the tech group, the survivors. Everybody sounded shaken and he fought the queasiness tickling the back of his throat when he heard Jennings throw up into a wastebasket after staring at Walters' body too long.
"Gibbs, someone's on his way down to retrieve the body for Dr. Mallard," Gands muttered.
Too loudly because Tim heard more vomiting. But he didn't dare turn around to see who it was.
"What about Hanks?" Gibbs asked.
"Heard from Marks he arrived at the morgue about five minutes ago along with a couple of digital cameras full of pictures of the scene. Ballistics might take longer." Gands made a frustrated sound. "Everything's going to take longer."
Ironic, Tim thought, considering the crime scene was in NCIS itself.
Gands checked his weapon and grunted as he snapped the magazine back in place. "How's DiNozzo?"
"He's okay." Gibbs paused. "He'll stay that way if he knows what's good for him."
Tim smiled tightly, suspecting that was more for his benefit. But the cold lump sitting on his chest thawed a little at the unwavering declaration. It was a hard voice to ignore; one that had anchored Tony during his bout of the plague.
The train of thought inevitably trickled down to memory of blue lights and harsh coughing. He forced himself to stare unblinkingly at the screen of Walters's station. Tim was grateful the keyboard and monitor was clean of blood; he was sure he wouldn't have been able to touch the workstation otherwise. Tim forced himself to only look at the monitor, his eyes burning as he brought up every log he could access.
It looked like Walters had been in the process of reestablishing the connections, rigging power back to one station. He'd only have time to open one window, though not to the security lockdowns.
Tim could hear everyone filing behind Gands to go up to the holding area. He almost wished Gands hadn't left. He understood the practicality of herding everyone to one location. It made it easier for the armed field agents to search the building for Al—the shooter—if there weren't hundreds of potential hostages running around.
Unfortunately, it also made everything quieter once they left. Tim's typing became loud to his ears.
"Walters was picked out of the group to get this computer running," Gibbs said.
Tim jumped. He knew the senior agent was behind him, eyes on the door, gun cradled loosely in his right hand. Tim could see his reflection on the screen, a sentinel in the dark and the knot in his chest loosened.
"The rest were locked in there. Through the door, one of them heard the shooter instructing Walters on what to do."
Tim raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the screen in front of him. "Albert?" he blurted out in disbelief. He cringed when he saw the reflection turned his way. "Boss, I don't see how...he didn't look like he knew anything about computers."
"He didn't look like he could shoot DiNozzo and kill two agents, either."
Tim's shoulders slumped. "He had us all fooled."
"Maybe," was all Gibbs said. He stood at Tim's shoulder. "Can you access the lockdown commands from here?"
"No. I mean, Walters got it powered up and got it connected into our servers, but he only managed to create a gateway into our database, nothing else. I can try to recover the logs, but the only thing that's been activated was the link to our storage partition. I-I mean, the security protocols haven't been breached." If it could be accessed from here, that is. Tim tried a few commands before he snorted. The computer squawked resentfully back. He glanced up to Gibbs. "Maybe Walters didn't finish?"
Gibbs looked at him, waiting.
Tim blinked and turned to stare at the computer again. "Then why kill him before he was done?" he muttered. He flexed his fingers before they flew across the keyboard. "And why not do it himself if he knew enough to give Walters instructions?"
"Because he didn't know," Gibbs added in way of agreement. "He recited them to Walters."
Tim's fingers froze mid-air. He gaped at the screen as it occurred to him. His head whipped up toward Gibbs. "Someone told him what to do? But that means he had help. So—"
"Albert's not working alone," Gibbs finished.
* * * * *
The first thing that came to mind when Tony opened his eyes was that there weren't any red-checkered tablecloths. The second thing came when the cool, flat metallic surface he was lying on finally registered.
Morgue.
Anthony, this is not a good sign.
Tony must have said it out loud because he heard a, "Doctor Mallard, he's awake!" and Ducky's face filled his vision.
"Well, well, my boy, you had us worried there."
Tony blinked blearily up at the ME. "I'm not dead."
"I should say not." Ducky sniffed. "As limited my resources are, I haven't forgotten my years in Oxford."
Tony's brow knitted. His mouth moved carefully, his tongue felt thick, his neck stiff. "Please tell me you didn't use that liver probe on me," he croaked.
Ducky's broad smile was both reassuring and nerve-wracking. He just patted Tony on his left shoulder and edged out of sight.
"Where's G—" Tony pushed up on one elbow and wondered why Ducky suddenly surged forward, why he could hear shouting when a blink later—
The room exploded into white light, flared behind his eyes and fire burned down his right side so sudden, so sharp, Tony's arms spasmed, his right leg lashed out and dimly, he thought he felt himself kick something when his whole upper body jerked. Tony could feel himself sagging, swaying, off the edge of the metal table before two hands gripped him by the arms, another wrapped around the back of his neck.
"Easy, DiNozzo, you're not up to sitting right now," Gibbs rumbled as Tony's head bumped into his chest.
"Careful. Timothy, straighten his legs out and elevate them on top of the—oh bother. Mr. Palmer, if you be so kind as to retrieve that bin?"
Tony could feel something churning in the back of his throat like bubbles frothing and sloshing and...
"Wait," Tony groaned. He could feel himself clawing Gibbs's arm. His eyes watered. He swallowed convulsively. "Hold up, I'm gonna...I have to..."
Before he could double over (a move Tony suspected would really suck), a hand cupped his jaw and tilted his head, guiding it toward a wastebasket shoved under his chin. He could hear Ducky telling someone to watch his shoulder but then bile burned up to his mouth and, argh, his stomach ignited as he retched.
"Slow breaths." Gibbs's voice was low and steady, his hand kneading the back of his neck as Tony vomited around his groan.
Fuzzily, Tony felt himself guided down onto the metal slab and something warm was pulled over his chest. His eyes watered when he tried to draw in a breath. Okay, breathing deep is not a good idea right now, either.
Palmer gaped down at him. He looked a little freaked.
"Ow," Tony rasped.
"You could say that again, Tony." McGee sounded unsteady when he showed up to his left.
"You better not throw up on me, Probie," Tony wheezed. Something clicked when McGee's white face came to view. Tony coughed (okay that was a bad idea, too) and he stared up at the ceiling. Why was it dark in here?
"Albert." Tony's mouth soured at the memory of the gun and the brief thought that he was screwed, even as he threw himself off his chair.
"Yeah," McGee bit out.
Gibbs's eyes looked black, hard, almost creepy, Emily Rose black (American version not German) sort of way and Tony hadn't seen Gibbs this uber-Marine since Ari. It took Tony aback a beat before his surroundings reminded him again.
"So," Tony began. He hissed when he tried to move. His lower back arched and he groaned as needles stabbed him in his right shoulder. Well, that answered his question on where he was hit. "Do we know why?" Tony carefully moved his head to face Gibbs.
"We were hoping you could tell us," McGee admitted. "One minute, you two were talking, the next, he started shooting."
"I got nothing. Anyone else got hit?" Tony tracked Gibbs's flinty glare and turned his stiff neck to the left. Ah damn. He could see two bodies, one still in a body bag, the other...
"Hanks," Tony groaned. His throat worked. "He just finished telling me about his trip with his fiancée." He stared at the profile before turning back to Gibbs. "You get him?"
Gibbs's eyebrow twitched. "Not yet."
Tony glanced over to McGee.
"Walters," McGee sighed. "From Tech."
Tony grimaced, this time not from the sharp pounding of his body.
Gibbs studied Tony, his mouth was a flat, unhappy line. His eyes darted over to Ducky behind him before returning to him. "What do you remember, DiNozzo?"
The gun. The taste of blood when he bit his tongue. The first punch of heat rammed into him, stealing his breath.
"Not much," Tony said hoarsely. "I mean...I can't think of anything we were talking about that would have...He talked about his kid sister, like always." Tony paused. "Not that I'm complaining, but is there a reason why I'm down here, or is this your way of breaking the bad news gently, because I gotta say, boss, I—"
It was a dumb move to try to get all that out. Tony knew he would normally have known that, but talking had been distracting him from the stab-throb piercing pain digging into his shoulder. Except now talking created the same stab-throb sensation in his stomach as well.
Gibbs settled a hand on Tony's chest, keeping him down, anchoring Tony as he coughed. He could hear Ducky somewhere behind him, McGee yammering about something that was probably all geeky and boring and crap, Tony could barely get a breath in and he thought he could taste blood in his mouth again and he wished Palmer would stop yapping by his ear and it felt like he was flying and—
"...and out, Tony."
Somewhere in the haze, Tony realized he was sitting up once more, slumped against something solid. He stared at whatever was coming toward him, twin white dots that confused him until the chalky taste against his lips drew a name.
"I'm afraid I don't have anything stronger," Ducky was saying as he wrapped a pressure cuff around his left arm.
Tony shivered as the cool metal of the stethoscope slid in between the cuff and the inside of his elbow.
"Take two of those for now," Ducky murmured as he began squeezing the ball thingy.
"Do I have to call you in the morning?" Tony asked tiredly.
Ducky chuckled. Palmer and McGee sounded like a pair of asthmatic hyenas.
Tony gagged at the taste and it hurt going down his throat, but the bottle pressed to his mouth promised some relief. He could hear Gibbs murmuring as Tony tried to swallow, but his body didn't seem to want the cool liquid and he choked.
"Damn it."
Uh oh. Gibbs sounded really mad, Tony thought fuzzily as he felt a hand rubbing his back, but that didn't make sense because he could sense Gibbs's arm over his shoulder, his other hand on his chest reminding him to breathe. Maybe Gibbs had more than two arms. That would be awesome unless it was a Sigourney Weaver-alien thing, then that wouldn't be very awesome and even downright...
The pressure cuff squeezing his arm drew his thoughts away from ventilation shafts and screechy, big-headed monsters. Tony panted as he leaned heavily against Gibbs. He made a sound when he felt the bottle against his lips again. He was thirsty and even though someone murmured to go slow, he couldn't stop from gulping and it ended up all over Gibbs's shirt. Oh crap.
Tony stared blearily at the wet spot. He could feel the hand on his back. He coughed and felt Ducky remove the cuff from his arm.
Ducky's hand lingered on his arm as he stared at the dials. "Jethro..."
"I know, Duck."
Tony knew this was a conversation he should really be listening to, but he was trying to keep his eyes opened a little longer because really, passing out in the morgue felt like a bad idea, and despite his blurry vision, Tony could make out the tray of bloody scalpels and wads of gauze in the tray behind Gibbs.
"Boss?" Tony whispered and he felt Gibbs hunched lower.
"Yeah, Tony?"
Tony blinked, but spots were filling up everything in front of him. His Adam's apple bobbed. "I think...I think I'm gonna call in sick tomorrow."
That done, Tony's eyes rolled up and he didn't think of anything else.
* * * * *
Jimmy stood at the foot of the slab, gnawing his lower lip as he watched Agent Gibbs carefully rearrange Tony on the cool surface, Doctor Mallard busying himself with taking Tony's BP again.
Tim was busy trying to solve the whole mystery by himself. "...but why reactivate a workstation when he's already shutdown all the stations deliberately in the first place. I don't even know how, but if he did have help on the outside, it could explain how he did it but not why he did it..."
Jimmy wondered if this was how Tim, as Thom the bestseller novelist, figured out his crimes. He eyed Gibbs, who was tracking Tim with a set mouth, his hands on Tony's shoulders as Doctor Mallard's pressure cuff went whoosh-whoosh around Tony's bicep again. His stomach knotted when Dr. Mallard peered up at Agent Gibbs over the top edge of his glasses.
Tim was talking even faster now and he kept starting to pace, then interrupting himself, never really going farther than Tony's head.
"... and I could see how he might have gotten help on the computers but how did he initiate the lockdown? That's voice command only and Security confirmed it was Tony who called it in, but obviously it wasn't him. And what's 'low sea into' anyway?" Tim skidded to a stop when he realized everyone, save Tony, was staring.
"I…uh uh…was just thinking out loud, boss," Tim stammered.
Jimmy gulped when Gibbs merely stared hard at his agent.
"You said he was always talking to you?"
Jimmy blinked. He was expecting Gibbs to be...louder.
Tim appeared taken aback as well but he recovered quickly. He made a face. "Not in the beginning when he first worked for us. Last few weeks though. We were here a lot in the mornings waiting for the grand jury." Tim ran a knuckle absently along the edge of the metal slab.
"Every day he had some question..." Tim's eyes widened. "You think he was recording us? Our voices, I mean and made some audio file to phone in?" Tim rubbed the back of his neck. "Sounds like something out of a movie," he muttered.
Jimmy's eyes automatically flew to Tony. When he looked up, he found everyone else's had as well.
"Doesn't explain how he knew the code. Only agents were given the pass code," Tim mumbled. He shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting. "Or what 'Low sea into' means."
"I'm sorry," a voice rasped from the table.
| part four |
Warnings and/or Spoilers: Vague spoilers up to 6X02 "Agent Afloat"
previous parts: master post | part one | part two
There was blood under his nails.
Gibbs noticed it when his fingers curled around his Sig as he cleared another hallway. Blood, still bright enough to gleam, still fresh enough to make his nostrils flare with the iron-rich tang of copper and life.
The farther he got from the morgue, the more his insides knotted, like he was straying too far from the green zone, too far from the border of friendlies. He shouldn't feel like he wished for camouflage netting in his own goddamn building.
With the phone lines down, there wasn't even a walkie talkie to check upstairs on whether or not they had found the shooter. Shooter. No name. A name would make it personal. Personal makes people screw up. Gibbs couldn't allow screw-ups today. Especially not today.
The blood under his nails was starting to turn brown. It shouldn't, but he could feel his skin begin to itch.
Right about now, as Gibbs crept down the corridors, DiNozzo would mention some movie this reminded him of, say something in the earwig that would make Gibbs' teeth grate and his right palm itch to swat his senior agent's head. He used it to fill space, DiNozzo's version of a boat in the basement and Gibbs understood that. It still annoyed the hell out of him though.
No movie references today. No head slaps either.
Gibbs' teeth ground together and there was a dull bolt of pain in his jaw. He could feel the corner of his right eye twitch in return.
Where the hell was McGee?
Two more minutes of slinking along the walls, Gibbs got his answer in a way he didn't expect.
There was a muffled pounding from the direction of Abby's lab. He recognized it as her lab's internal alarms. Gibbs turned the corner a lot faster than his training would recommend. He stopped short, his gun still up chest level. McGee's back was toward him, facing the glass door that led to the lab. Abby looked like she was mirroring McGee. Sort of.
Abby saw Gibbs arrive and she waved a gloved hand.
McGee spun around with his gun gripped in one hand, a tiny evidence bag in the other.
"You need to watch your six," Gibbs said as he lowered his gun. He raised an eyebrow at Abby. She stared right at him through the glass door, her palms pressed flat to the glass, high above her head, shoulder width apart. She looked like one of those damn toys suction-cupped in people's rear car windows.
"We're uh...locked out or, well, Abby's locked in." McGee gestured.
Abby had her nose pressed against the glass as well now.
"Yeah, McGee, I can see that." Gibbs nodded at the evidence bag McGee was holding.
"Abby can't run full ballistics on this, so we're scanning the bullets two dimensionally."
Abby, on cue, hauled up what Gibbs recognized as her scanner, its lid missing.
"We've used the flatbed through the glass and she'll reconstruct the images in her laptop."
"Laptop?" Gibbs scowled. He could see the computers behind Abby dark and silent.
"Her systems were connected to our servers, boss. She's shut down as well. She's reconnected to the main power, but we can't get the doors open and her alarms..." McGee winced. "How's Tony?"
Even though McGee's back was to Abby now, she seemed to have sensed the question. Her dark eyes shot to Gibbs' face, her mouth crinkled downward at the corners.
Gibbs met her gaze and very slowly, gave his response. "Ducky's got him."
It was all he could afford to say.
It was enough for Abby because she straightened, her mouth moving, but then she scowled toward the ceiling at the klaxons and stamped her feet.
"Boss." McGee fumbled out his phone for some reason. "The alarms were so loud we couldn't talk, but we've been communicating with tex—"
Tony's going to be fine, Gibbs signed to Abby.
"That could work, too," McGee finished meekly.
Gibbs's eyes darted quickly over the flurry of fingers replying.
I can't get into the computers but I think with my laptop hooked into the hard drives, use the combined cache, maybe I'll able to do limited AFIS from previous searches and—
Gibbs held up a hand and Abby stilled.
Just do it. I want to know everything we can.
Abby saluted and McGee smiled faintly. He never knew what they said, but it wasn't important. He got the gist.
"Have you seen any other agents?" Gibbs asked.
McGee shook his head. "I saw Gands on the stairwell when I came down, but no one in the halls. All the office doors are locked, too, so Albert couldn't have hidden in any. I tried to call Ziva before but nothing." McGee looked like he was tempted to throw his phone. "Boss, this is more than a lockdown. Not even the internal phones are working right." McGee gestured toward Abby, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor doing...something to her laptop and scanner. "Abby tried her phones and one minute she gets Vance, the next she gets Legal. It's hit or miss."
Gibbs's lips thinned as he stared hard down the corridor leading to the stairs, its exit sign glowing red in the distance. It wasn't SOP for internal communication to be out in a lockdown, no matter what the level. By now, SecNav would have sent a response team who would have no idea there wasn't a real bio-weapon threat in here. Why? Why the lockdown?
A quick rap on the glass caught Abby's eye and she leapt to her feet with an ease he normally envied.
How much you think you can get out of your laptop? Gibbs regretted his question as that incited a slew of signing that made her look like she was having a fit.
McGee inched closer with a frown, but to his credit, he was turned halfway toward the unguarded hallway, hand resting on his hip holster.
"Get me as much as you can from those bullets and see what she can remember about..." Gibbs clenched his jaw.
"Albert?" McGee supplied, but blanched at Gibbs's glower.
"Albert," Gibbs repeated tightly. "I want to know his background, if he has the skills to create a lockdown like this, how the hell he managed to bypass Security to get a weapon in here—"
"Boss, we're not in the network. All Abby could do is...ah..." McGee visibly swallowed when Gibbs stared at him. "Well, Abby was thinking she could probably jury-rig some sort of Wi-Fi antenna to boost her cell phone and get through to some—Ah, on it, boss." McGee stuttered to a halt and began typing out his idea, because Gibbs sure as hell wasn't going to try and sign that to Abby.
Abby nodded as she glanced down through the glass to read what McGee was typing. After a few lines, she looked up and mouthed four words, "Get who did this."
Gibbs didn't bother nodding. Abby already knew his answer.
Instead of sugar, Ziva poured salt in Tony's cappuccino.
As she stood there waiting for her order to be filled, Ziva realized she had the cotton pulled over her eyes. Tony had tricked her into making the coffee run.
She muttered darkly in Hebrew as she threw the change from the ridiculously priced drinks into the dented plastic cup earmarked for tips. The cashier (barbie, barter, something) cringed before telling her to have a nice day.
Ziva stomped out of the coffeehouse, the tray of coffees sloshing in her grip. She set the coffees down on one of their outdoor tables when her cellphone buzzed an alert. She was still grumbling to herself when she pulled it out. Her words died as she read the text on her screen.
NCIS.HQ ALERT: SEC LCKDWN IN PROGRESS. ALL AVAIL AGENTS EAST GATE.
Ziva was down the block, zipping around honking cars before she remembered she'd left the coffees behind.
The East Gate, furthest from the Navy Yard's front gate and housing the visitors' parking lot, was already crowded with agents who had been out that morning. They were arguing with someone in full battle gear.
Ziva barely glanced at his assault rifle as she elbowed agents to reach him.
"What has happened?" Ziva demanded at the Marine perched at the gate. She could hear a helicopter flying high above them and recognized the deep, rhythmic tempo of the rotary blades of a military craft.
"You can't come in, ma'am. I advise you to stand back."
"I work here. We all do!" Ziva shouted above the screeching of jeeps braking behind them. Boots thundered past them, soldiers swarming the few cars parked in the lot, long wands with mirrors shoved underneath as the bottoms of cars were visually swept. Others tugged the leashes of large regal-looking dogs, like the ones who had been trained in the compound when she was a child.
"Lockdown!" The Marine nodded to someone behind her and he barked in his radio that air samples were being collected. Air samples?
"What's the nature of the lockdown?" Another agent pressed forward next to her. Ziva vaguely remembered him on the desk behind Agent Hanks.
"All we know is a Level Four lockdown was alerted to all departments at 1050," the Marine answered, "but no further communication has been possible."
Ziva set her jaw. She tightened the grip on her phone and stared past the parking lot toward the low, red brick building in the distance.
It made sense to go down to the basement level. What better way to beat a computer than with a floor full of the country's best tech agents?
Tim watched Gibbs dart toward one corner and drop into a crouch. The senior agent peered around it, his eyes narrow, his mouth grim, then gave Tim a small nod.
At the nod, Tim hurried to the opposite corner, making sure to remain stealthy. He grimaced. It still felt like they were making too much noise. Even his breathing sounded loud in his ears, but Gibbs never gave him anything more than short nods after each check of a door.
Tim copied Gibbs, balanced on the balls of his feet and peered around the wall edge. "Clear," he mouthed.
Gibbs acknowledged with a jerk of his head.
They alternated, corner to corner, door to door; Gibbs faced one way down the hallway, Tim aimed his gun the opposite direction. Tim wondered why he never realized just how many doors were in this place. Was the basement this big before? Had it always been this dark? What a stupid place to store thirty-nine mainfr—
Gunshot.
Together, they jerked, slammed their backs to the walls they were positioned against. The short bark had come from the main area, all the way down, three long corridors down. Tim was very aware how there was only two of them. Just two. Tim wished Tony was here. He was the better shot. He had hit the bulls-eye five times at the range, then teased Ziva about it all day when she'd only gotten four.
Tim bit the inside of his cheek, letting the sharp pain bring him back to focus. The echoes of gunfire had logically faded, but there was a ringing in his ears and he thought he could hear screaming again, like when he had jumped on top of Tony to protect him.
His gun aimed high for a clear shot, Tim trailed behind his boss as they followed the hallways down to the main room. He saw Gibbs's spine stiffen and like Pavlov's dog with his bell, he reacted by hugging the wall again, even before Gibbs's arm shot out to push him back.
The room was dark, save a few squares of flickering light. Just enough to see a man standing in the center of the room.
"Hands where I can see them!" Gibbs shouted. "Hands!"
Even though Tim had been expecting it, he still jumped at the hard order cutting through the hum of computers. Wait. Computers? But that meant...
"Lower your weapons! It's Gands!"
Peeking around the corner, Tim saw the towering agent, his hands in the air, his service weapon hanging loosely off a finger in a clear sign of zero threat.
"Did you see him?" Gibbs snapped as he lowered his gun and steered right for—
Oh no.
The curly brown hair and stupid yellow suspenders Tim had always made fun of him for were immediate markers. Tim lowered his gun and stared in dismay at the body by Gands' feet. He was thankful it was facedown. Tim didn't need to see to know who it was.
"I was checking this floor's exit when I heard the shot." Gands shook his head even as he holstered his gun. "By the time I got here, the kid was dead."
"It's Joe Walters." Tim swallowed. "He works—worked the security filters here. Where's..." He swiveled his eyes left and right. There were eight desks, all empty. "Jennings, Stetson, Jones, uh..." The other names escaped him for the moment. Tim stared at Walters. He looked away when he realized the two closely clustered shots on his back were creating a red halo around him. He never should have mocked Walters when he had been assigned to work down here. And the stupid thought that he still owed Walter six bucks for lunch was squashed immediately.
A rattling and muffled shouting alerted Gands and Gibbs.
Tim tensed as he watched the two agents approached the server room near the rear. Tim raised his gun just as Gibbs slowly curled a hand around the door handle. From here, he could see Gands mouthing down a count, "Three, two, one."
With an abrupt yank, Gibbs opened the door and, together, Gands and Gibbs pointed their guns into the room. Tim gripped his gun with both hands and he nearly tripped over the Walters' legs as he fought to stay in position.
"It's the techs," Gands announced as he straightened. "Duct-taped and tied up like presents, but they're alive."
"Seven of them," Gibbs reported as he scanned the room.
"Lucky seven," Gands grunted.
Tim pulled his foot back a little when he saw how close he was to the blood pool surrounding Walters. "Yeah," he said numbly, his eyes on the checkered shirt and stained suspenders. "Lucky."
The fact that one workstation was still on didn't seem to make things better.
Tim could hear Gibbs interviewing the rest of the tech group, the survivors. Everybody sounded shaken and he fought the queasiness tickling the back of his throat when he heard Jennings throw up into a wastebasket after staring at Walters' body too long.
"Gibbs, someone's on his way down to retrieve the body for Dr. Mallard," Gands muttered.
Too loudly because Tim heard more vomiting. But he didn't dare turn around to see who it was.
"What about Hanks?" Gibbs asked.
"Heard from Marks he arrived at the morgue about five minutes ago along with a couple of digital cameras full of pictures of the scene. Ballistics might take longer." Gands made a frustrated sound. "Everything's going to take longer."
Ironic, Tim thought, considering the crime scene was in NCIS itself.
Gands checked his weapon and grunted as he snapped the magazine back in place. "How's DiNozzo?"
"He's okay." Gibbs paused. "He'll stay that way if he knows what's good for him."
Tim smiled tightly, suspecting that was more for his benefit. But the cold lump sitting on his chest thawed a little at the unwavering declaration. It was a hard voice to ignore; one that had anchored Tony during his bout of the plague.
The train of thought inevitably trickled down to memory of blue lights and harsh coughing. He forced himself to stare unblinkingly at the screen of Walters's station. Tim was grateful the keyboard and monitor was clean of blood; he was sure he wouldn't have been able to touch the workstation otherwise. Tim forced himself to only look at the monitor, his eyes burning as he brought up every log he could access.
It looked like Walters had been in the process of reestablishing the connections, rigging power back to one station. He'd only have time to open one window, though not to the security lockdowns.
Tim could hear everyone filing behind Gands to go up to the holding area. He almost wished Gands hadn't left. He understood the practicality of herding everyone to one location. It made it easier for the armed field agents to search the building for Al—the shooter—if there weren't hundreds of potential hostages running around.
Unfortunately, it also made everything quieter once they left. Tim's typing became loud to his ears.
"Walters was picked out of the group to get this computer running," Gibbs said.
Tim jumped. He knew the senior agent was behind him, eyes on the door, gun cradled loosely in his right hand. Tim could see his reflection on the screen, a sentinel in the dark and the knot in his chest loosened.
"The rest were locked in there. Through the door, one of them heard the shooter instructing Walters on what to do."
Tim raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the screen in front of him. "Albert?" he blurted out in disbelief. He cringed when he saw the reflection turned his way. "Boss, I don't see how...he didn't look like he knew anything about computers."
"He didn't look like he could shoot DiNozzo and kill two agents, either."
Tim's shoulders slumped. "He had us all fooled."
"Maybe," was all Gibbs said. He stood at Tim's shoulder. "Can you access the lockdown commands from here?"
"No. I mean, Walters got it powered up and got it connected into our servers, but he only managed to create a gateway into our database, nothing else. I can try to recover the logs, but the only thing that's been activated was the link to our storage partition. I-I mean, the security protocols haven't been breached." If it could be accessed from here, that is. Tim tried a few commands before he snorted. The computer squawked resentfully back. He glanced up to Gibbs. "Maybe Walters didn't finish?"
Gibbs looked at him, waiting.
Tim blinked and turned to stare at the computer again. "Then why kill him before he was done?" he muttered. He flexed his fingers before they flew across the keyboard. "And why not do it himself if he knew enough to give Walters instructions?"
"Because he didn't know," Gibbs added in way of agreement. "He recited them to Walters."
Tim's fingers froze mid-air. He gaped at the screen as it occurred to him. His head whipped up toward Gibbs. "Someone told him what to do? But that means he had help. So—"
"Albert's not working alone," Gibbs finished.
The first thing that came to mind when Tony opened his eyes was that there weren't any red-checkered tablecloths. The second thing came when the cool, flat metallic surface he was lying on finally registered.
Morgue.
Anthony, this is not a good sign.
Tony must have said it out loud because he heard a, "Doctor Mallard, he's awake!" and Ducky's face filled his vision.
"Well, well, my boy, you had us worried there."
Tony blinked blearily up at the ME. "I'm not dead."
"I should say not." Ducky sniffed. "As limited my resources are, I haven't forgotten my years in Oxford."
Tony's brow knitted. His mouth moved carefully, his tongue felt thick, his neck stiff. "Please tell me you didn't use that liver probe on me," he croaked.
Ducky's broad smile was both reassuring and nerve-wracking. He just patted Tony on his left shoulder and edged out of sight.
"Where's G—" Tony pushed up on one elbow and wondered why Ducky suddenly surged forward, why he could hear shouting when a blink later—
The room exploded into white light, flared behind his eyes and fire burned down his right side so sudden, so sharp, Tony's arms spasmed, his right leg lashed out and dimly, he thought he felt himself kick something when his whole upper body jerked. Tony could feel himself sagging, swaying, off the edge of the metal table before two hands gripped him by the arms, another wrapped around the back of his neck.
"Easy, DiNozzo, you're not up to sitting right now," Gibbs rumbled as Tony's head bumped into his chest.
"Careful. Timothy, straighten his legs out and elevate them on top of the—oh bother. Mr. Palmer, if you be so kind as to retrieve that bin?"
Tony could feel something churning in the back of his throat like bubbles frothing and sloshing and...
"Wait," Tony groaned. He could feel himself clawing Gibbs's arm. His eyes watered. He swallowed convulsively. "Hold up, I'm gonna...I have to..."
Before he could double over (a move Tony suspected would really suck), a hand cupped his jaw and tilted his head, guiding it toward a wastebasket shoved under his chin. He could hear Ducky telling someone to watch his shoulder but then bile burned up to his mouth and, argh, his stomach ignited as he retched.
"Slow breaths." Gibbs's voice was low and steady, his hand kneading the back of his neck as Tony vomited around his groan.
Fuzzily, Tony felt himself guided down onto the metal slab and something warm was pulled over his chest. His eyes watered when he tried to draw in a breath. Okay, breathing deep is not a good idea right now, either.
Palmer gaped down at him. He looked a little freaked.
"Ow," Tony rasped.
"You could say that again, Tony." McGee sounded unsteady when he showed up to his left.
"You better not throw up on me, Probie," Tony wheezed. Something clicked when McGee's white face came to view. Tony coughed (okay that was a bad idea, too) and he stared up at the ceiling. Why was it dark in here?
"Albert." Tony's mouth soured at the memory of the gun and the brief thought that he was screwed, even as he threw himself off his chair.
"Yeah," McGee bit out.
Gibbs's eyes looked black, hard, almost creepy, Emily Rose black (American version not German) sort of way and Tony hadn't seen Gibbs this uber-Marine since Ari. It took Tony aback a beat before his surroundings reminded him again.
"So," Tony began. He hissed when he tried to move. His lower back arched and he groaned as needles stabbed him in his right shoulder. Well, that answered his question on where he was hit. "Do we know why?" Tony carefully moved his head to face Gibbs.
"We were hoping you could tell us," McGee admitted. "One minute, you two were talking, the next, he started shooting."
"I got nothing. Anyone else got hit?" Tony tracked Gibbs's flinty glare and turned his stiff neck to the left. Ah damn. He could see two bodies, one still in a body bag, the other...
"Hanks," Tony groaned. His throat worked. "He just finished telling me about his trip with his fiancée." He stared at the profile before turning back to Gibbs. "You get him?"
Gibbs's eyebrow twitched. "Not yet."
Tony glanced over to McGee.
"Walters," McGee sighed. "From Tech."
Tony grimaced, this time not from the sharp pounding of his body.
Gibbs studied Tony, his mouth was a flat, unhappy line. His eyes darted over to Ducky behind him before returning to him. "What do you remember, DiNozzo?"
The gun. The taste of blood when he bit his tongue. The first punch of heat rammed into him, stealing his breath.
"Not much," Tony said hoarsely. "I mean...I can't think of anything we were talking about that would have...He talked about his kid sister, like always." Tony paused. "Not that I'm complaining, but is there a reason why I'm down here, or is this your way of breaking the bad news gently, because I gotta say, boss, I—"
It was a dumb move to try to get all that out. Tony knew he would normally have known that, but talking had been distracting him from the stab-throb piercing pain digging into his shoulder. Except now talking created the same stab-throb sensation in his stomach as well.
Gibbs settled a hand on Tony's chest, keeping him down, anchoring Tony as he coughed. He could hear Ducky somewhere behind him, McGee yammering about something that was probably all geeky and boring and crap, Tony could barely get a breath in and he thought he could taste blood in his mouth again and he wished Palmer would stop yapping by his ear and it felt like he was flying and—
"...and out, Tony."
Somewhere in the haze, Tony realized he was sitting up once more, slumped against something solid. He stared at whatever was coming toward him, twin white dots that confused him until the chalky taste against his lips drew a name.
"I'm afraid I don't have anything stronger," Ducky was saying as he wrapped a pressure cuff around his left arm.
Tony shivered as the cool metal of the stethoscope slid in between the cuff and the inside of his elbow.
"Take two of those for now," Ducky murmured as he began squeezing the ball thingy.
"Do I have to call you in the morning?" Tony asked tiredly.
Ducky chuckled. Palmer and McGee sounded like a pair of asthmatic hyenas.
Tony gagged at the taste and it hurt going down his throat, but the bottle pressed to his mouth promised some relief. He could hear Gibbs murmuring as Tony tried to swallow, but his body didn't seem to want the cool liquid and he choked.
"Damn it."
Uh oh. Gibbs sounded really mad, Tony thought fuzzily as he felt a hand rubbing his back, but that didn't make sense because he could sense Gibbs's arm over his shoulder, his other hand on his chest reminding him to breathe. Maybe Gibbs had more than two arms. That would be awesome unless it was a Sigourney Weaver-alien thing, then that wouldn't be very awesome and even downright...
The pressure cuff squeezing his arm drew his thoughts away from ventilation shafts and screechy, big-headed monsters. Tony panted as he leaned heavily against Gibbs. He made a sound when he felt the bottle against his lips again. He was thirsty and even though someone murmured to go slow, he couldn't stop from gulping and it ended up all over Gibbs's shirt. Oh crap.
Tony stared blearily at the wet spot. He could feel the hand on his back. He coughed and felt Ducky remove the cuff from his arm.
Ducky's hand lingered on his arm as he stared at the dials. "Jethro..."
"I know, Duck."
Tony knew this was a conversation he should really be listening to, but he was trying to keep his eyes opened a little longer because really, passing out in the morgue felt like a bad idea, and despite his blurry vision, Tony could make out the tray of bloody scalpels and wads of gauze in the tray behind Gibbs.
"Boss?" Tony whispered and he felt Gibbs hunched lower.
"Yeah, Tony?"
Tony blinked, but spots were filling up everything in front of him. His Adam's apple bobbed. "I think...I think I'm gonna call in sick tomorrow."
That done, Tony's eyes rolled up and he didn't think of anything else.
Jimmy stood at the foot of the slab, gnawing his lower lip as he watched Agent Gibbs carefully rearrange Tony on the cool surface, Doctor Mallard busying himself with taking Tony's BP again.
Tim was busy trying to solve the whole mystery by himself. "...but why reactivate a workstation when he's already shutdown all the stations deliberately in the first place. I don't even know how, but if he did have help on the outside, it could explain how he did it but not why he did it..."
Jimmy wondered if this was how Tim, as Thom the bestseller novelist, figured out his crimes. He eyed Gibbs, who was tracking Tim with a set mouth, his hands on Tony's shoulders as Doctor Mallard's pressure cuff went whoosh-whoosh around Tony's bicep again. His stomach knotted when Dr. Mallard peered up at Agent Gibbs over the top edge of his glasses.
Tim was talking even faster now and he kept starting to pace, then interrupting himself, never really going farther than Tony's head.
"... and I could see how he might have gotten help on the computers but how did he initiate the lockdown? That's voice command only and Security confirmed it was Tony who called it in, but obviously it wasn't him. And what's 'low sea into' anyway?" Tim skidded to a stop when he realized everyone, save Tony, was staring.
"I…uh uh…was just thinking out loud, boss," Tim stammered.
Jimmy gulped when Gibbs merely stared hard at his agent.
"You said he was always talking to you?"
Jimmy blinked. He was expecting Gibbs to be...louder.
Tim appeared taken aback as well but he recovered quickly. He made a face. "Not in the beginning when he first worked for us. Last few weeks though. We were here a lot in the mornings waiting for the grand jury." Tim ran a knuckle absently along the edge of the metal slab.
"Every day he had some question..." Tim's eyes widened. "You think he was recording us? Our voices, I mean and made some audio file to phone in?" Tim rubbed the back of his neck. "Sounds like something out of a movie," he muttered.
Jimmy's eyes automatically flew to Tony. When he looked up, he found everyone else's had as well.
"Doesn't explain how he knew the code. Only agents were given the pass code," Tim mumbled. He shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting. "Or what 'Low sea into' means."
"I'm sorry," a voice rasped from the table.
| part four |
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 06:46 pm (UTC)I'm glad Tony's somewhat awake and aware. Does he have an insight? What's he sorry for?
And now Ziva knows there's a lockdown, but it sounds like they don't know much about it at the moment. Will the outside agents be able to unseal the building? If they do, will it allow Albert to escape?
Laura.