NCIS FIC- Jimbo's Revenge 2/2
Title: Jimbo’s Revenge, 2/2
Author: Matt
Warnings, rating, disclaimer, etc included with part 1/2
Jethro Gibbs was well past the point of being pissed.
Caitlin Todd stealthily watched as her boss continued to pace angrily back and forth beside the taped off area surrounding the benches situated next to the Anacostia River, his fluid, stalking gait easily reminding her of a tiger she’d recently seen at the National Zoo while on an outing with a visiting brother and his family. The large, magnificent cat had moved steadily, silently, on its huge, padded paws, its cool, keen, intelligent eyes sweeping and seeing every person, every movement, acutely aware of everything that was taking place within the vicinity of its cage. And always…*always*…its sharp gaze had been filled with some dark and dangerous warning. There had been no doubt in her mind that powerful animal would have gladly ripped out the throat of any person stupid enough to get too close.
Gibbs wore that very same look now.
Averting her gaze from the almost-hypnotizing cadence of Gibbs’ restless pacing and catching the eye of Agent Chris Pachi, Todd slowly moved over to where the man was purposefully rising from an uncomfortable-looking squat within the boundaries of the yellow tape and waited patiently until he secured his section of the active crime scene. He wore a grim, serious expression and the usual teasing light in his pale eyes was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t have to speak to communicate the severity of the situation.
After their conversation out by the Anacostia, Gibbs had waited almost thirty full minutes for DiNozzo to get his act together and reappear in the bullpen, growing angrier each time he glanced at the vacant desk across the room. He’d impatiently expected DiNozzo’s imminent return and had wondered if his wayward agent had decided to play hooky out in the fresh air of the waning day instead of joining them back in the building. He’d finally tried reaching him by cell phone and, when no answer had come, he’d ignored Todd’s blatant, nervous looks and had stalked back outside to bodily collect the rebellious younger man himself.
He’d let his anger rise as he’d swiftly exited the building, silently castigating himself for allowing his almost-dormant feelings for his senior field agent to get in the way of his professionalism and common sense. There’d been several damn good reasons why Gibbs had tucked those useless emotions away all those years ago and why he’d purposefully focused solely on his work. More than anything, it gave him a viable measure of control. But with just one look into those soulful, almost-pleading, green eyes, Gibbs had caved.
Stalking down the path leading toward the Anacostia and fighting those ever-present demons yammering away in his mind, he’d almost believed DiNozzo had taken advantage of the situation. Gibbs had realized he’d momentarily lowered his defenses, allowed a small measure of his tightly concealed feelings to escape, and had been secretly pleased the younger man had felt he could confide something so painfully personal. It had stroked his ego like a warm caress and made a slight crack in his rock-solid façade…and it had felt damn good. He’d even decided he’d be the one to sit outside DiNozzo’s apartment and keep watch, just to make sure nothing happened during the night.
And then everything had changed.
Once back by the benches, he’d taken one, startled, incredulous look at the bloodied and vacant sitting area, sharp eyes quickly cataloging every aspect of the messy scene, and again hurriedly attempted to contact his missing agent by cell phone, heart hammering wildly in his chest. He’d felt sick to his stomach, his breath catching hard in his chest. When the slightly battered but still functioning piece of discarded technology had softly beeped, guiding him to its hidden location under a nearby bush, Gibbs had felt his world narrow and his blood run cold.
As far as he knew, there’d been only one explanation for the situation and, in Gibbs’ mind, the reason just didn’t bode well, especially for DiNozzo. If the warnings from ‘Celeste’ in Baltimore had been accurate, Margaret Anglin’s brother was truly here and had, somehow, perpetrated this mind-boggling crime.
After contacting the Director to inform him of the confusing and suspicious state of affairs, the Naval Yard had been thrown into an immediate lockdown. Within moments, Tom Morrow had promptly pulled Gibbs away, turning the initial investigation over to a different, well-qualified but less personally invested team, and forcing the extremely frustrated agent to sit and relate all he knew of the events leading up to DiNozzo’s disappearance to another Team Leader. Gibbs had barked and growled, bristling under the constraints of the orders, but had swiftly given all the information he had available, testily relating his private conversation with DiNozzo and, all the while, hating the feeling he was, somehow, breaking a valued confidence.
And damning himself for ever doubting DiNozzo.
The Baltimore PD was contacted and Celeste Dupree hustled through an informative video conference, the once-sketchy details of what had transpired during her recent conversation with DiNozzo rapidly fleshing out under direct questioning, and, suddenly, they had a name and a face to accompany their investigation. James Anglin, no longer just the brother of Margaret, was now being investigated and sought for the disappearance…and possible abduction and murder…of a federal agent. BOLOs were issued and LEOs in the vicinity were on high alert and, even though James Anglin was venting his revenge upon one, specific individual, everyone at NCIS felt this was a personal affront to the entire agency.
Of them all, Jethro Gibbs was feeling it most acutely. Since coming upon the scene by the river, he’d done nothing but berate himself, cursing his own stupidity, criticizing and condemning and wondering, like those around him, how someone could have infiltrated and attacked so easily. And speculating what in the hell could have possessed him to leave his visibly troubled agent alone on that damn bench. He should have known better, he should have allowed those repressed feelings to stay around a bit longer, and he sure as hell should have taken better notice of anyone else lurking in the immediate area.
Then, he’d recalled the lone, big maintenance worker, the one he’d scared away with one of his patented scowls, and began cursing himself all over again. Could it have been James Anglin in those coveralls? Could that man have really found his way onto the premises and created a way to stalk his prey so effortlessly? The thought was enough to boggle his already whirling mind.
As the day began to slowly recede and the waning light began to fade, an uneasy shifting in the mood of those in The Yard began to take place. No new leads were coming in, no sightings or clues or hints of DiNozzo’s whereabouts were happening. Time was the enemy now.
Gibbs and Todd stayed close to the source of the direct evidence, the woman jogging back and forth between the confines of the building and the scene outside, her lithe, athletic body easily covering the distance without problem. While Gibbs was involved with stalking and staring along the borders of the crime tape, Todd was on a completely different type of hunt.
“What have you found, Chris?” She asked quietly, careful not to let anyone overhear her questioning the agent. Director Morrow would be extremely unhappy if he heard she was actively seeking information concerning this investigation but, between facing Gibbs’ ire or Morrow’s unhappiness, she’d risk her chances with Morrow. Any day.
Pachi nodded her way, snapping off his gloves, and stepping close to the yellow dividing tape, bringing him near Todd’s peripheral position. “Preliminary indicators are suggesting someone got the drop on Tony, incapacitated him, and, somehow, removed him from the area.” He shook his head in frustration, well aware she and Gibbs had already figured out that much themselves. “We’re not sure if that’s actually what occurred or how that was accomplished because Sullivan is still trying to make heads or tails of the blood trail,” he turned slightly, indicating toward the banks of the Anacostia where another agent diligently worked, “but you can clearly see he was dragged to the edge of the pavement. Sullivan found blood on the railing, so we think it’s likely he was dumped over.”
“Oh, my God,” Todd shifted nervously, raising a hand to press the back of her fingers to her lips, concerned eyes drifting toward the flowing water. As aggravating as DiNozzo could be at times, the thought of him hurt and in the cold, dirty river sent a new surge of worry through her body.
“Cait,” Pachi faced her, fully understanding and empathizing with her reaction, “there are divers working and rescue boats running downriver right now. If he’s in the water, he’ll be found.”
“But he’s hurt.” Todd swallowed convulsively, eyes sweeping the chaotic area. She refused to say the word ‘dead’, though that thought was already floating in the back of her mind. “And there’s so much blood.”
Pachi nodded in understanding and reached out with a brief, comforting touch. “It just looks that way to you because it belongs to Tony. You need to remember to view the situation strictly with an investigator’s eye, not a as friend.”
“He’s your friend, too, Chris,” she reminded him in soft, sharp criticism.
Pachi sighed and nodded, looking down and running a hand over his thinning hair. “Christ, I know. Believe me, I’m trying my damnedest to stay as detached as possible but…”
Now it was Todd’s turn to reach out. She waited until Pachi looked back up and steadily met his tired eyes. They both didn’t want to think the worse but, as more time passed, DiNozzo’s chances of survival diminished.
“Just keep us up to date,” she squeezed his arm one last time and turned away, knowing Gibbs was expecting an update.
“Will do,” Pachi assured and got back to work.
Todd raised her eyes and immediately caught sight of Gibbs heading her way, his quick stride indicating he had something important to share. She swiftly skirted the edges of the yellow crime scene tape and met him halfway, anxious to hear his news.
“Abby just called and gave me a heads-up,” he spoke, taking her elbow and steering her toward the main building. “She pulled up the tapes of all the nearby security cameras and found something. She’s getting ready to inform Morrow now.”
“And she called you first?” Todd was still amazed at the level of loyalty Gibbs received from Abby Sciuto but smiled conspiratorially. “We just going to show up in his office for the viewing, without an invitation?”
“Yep.”
Ten minutes later, Morrow, Gibbs, Todd and a small handful of other agents were trying to make sense of what they were viewing from the security tapes, astounded by the sheer boldness of the attack and abduction of one of their own. In broad daylight, in plain sight of the NCIS main building, a man dressed in maintenance clothes had approached a clearly contemplative DiNozzo from behind, bludgeoned him repeatedly with some type of metallic tool, and dragged the unconscious agent to the edge of the Anacostia. All in a matter of moments. James Anglin, if the man hauling DiNozzo around was, indeed, him, was tall, unbelievably strong, and far from gentle.
But the video had led them to assume he hadn’t just dumped DiNozzo into the water as they’d all originally feared. Climbing quickly over the low railing, the then-unidentified man had hauled his captive over and dropped swiftly down, reappearing only moments later in the bow of a small, nondescript rowboat. They all suspected the lumpy shape by Anglin’s feet had been DiNozzo but, with the form concealed by some tarp-like cover, they hadn’t been absolutely sure. Hence, the continued searching by the divers and rescue boats. It had only taken a matter of minutes for the abductor to manually paddle the craft out of the range of the cameras. It was plain to see he’d been heading toward the opposite shore but, before he could escape the ever-ready lenses, he’d made the mistake of raising his face. The image Abby had cleaned up and enlarged had matched that of James Anglin’s driver license and, even though it was as Gibbs had suspected, the confirmation only made his gut clench tighter. What had occurred once Anglin had made landfall on the outer side was anyone’s call right now.
Morrow had dispatched a number of teams to the other side of the river and redirected the boats already in the water to the opposite bank. He’d felt the weight of Gibbs’ intense stare while giving his orders and, after completing his instructions, finally turned to face the man and the young woman standing purposefully at his side.
“I’m not fool enough to think you aren’t already involved in this investigation somehow,” he stated without rancor, pointedly gazing at his two remaining agents. He sighed and sat down at his desk, looking up at both of them with calculating eyes. “Why don’t you try to convince me that it wouldn’t be more foolish if I let you assist in the search?”
Gibbs stepped forward and leaned his fists on the edge of Morrow’s desk, dropping his gaze and giving his superior a deadly stare. He tersely informed the Director of the young computer wiz he’d borrowed from the Norfolk office to begin digging a little deeper into the life of Margaret Anglin’s brother. Gibbs had heard rumors about the insanely young MIT graduate while at a recent team leader meeting, had heard that Timothy McGee was one of the best at getting information quickly, and had considered bringing the relatively new agent onto his own team sometime in the near future. Abby always had her hands full with the amount of evidence they continually brought in during cases, so having an extra pair of eyes and ears was only logical. They deserved to have someone who could handle all the technology and take that particular part of the work load away. McGee seemed the reasonable choice. Gibbs just never thought he’d be needing the young man so soon.
“You think he’ll be able to find something?” Morrow asked skeptically. “We’ve already obtained everything the Baltimore PD had available on that family and have agents interviewing Anglin’s local sheriff. Seems kind of redundant.”
“Maybe.”
Gibbs could straddle a fence with the best of them. He wasn’t prepared to tell Morrow about his gut feeling, not sure the Director would understand anyway, so he just met the other man’s gaze steadily and remained stoically silent. They’d worked together long enough to know each other well enough by now.
Morrow shook his head and sighed. “Just stay out of the way of the main team. You know the drill and are expected to comply.”
“Understood, sir,” Gibbs responded automatically, knowing Morrow didn’t really expect him to actually obey.
The Director eyed his agents one, last time and bent his head back to his paperwork. “Good.”
And just like that, Gibbs and Todd were dismissed. They made their way quickly down the stairs and started toward their desks, only to be brought up short by the trilling of Gibbs’ phone. Gibbs snatched his cell from his pocket and brought it to his ear.
“Yeah. Gibbs.”
On the other end, McGee, who was housed temporarily in Abby’s lab, hurriedly stammered his way through an explanation of James Anglin’s background, focusing on the volatile young man’s checkered past and his almost-natural ability for automotive mechanics. There were no credit cards or cell phone records to trace, no type of paper trail at all and, before long, Gibbs was gritting his teeth and seriously contemplating pulling his hair out…or, better yet, McGee’s.
“If that’s all you’ve got for me,” he snarled into the hated piece of technology, “you should have kept your sorry ass back in Norfolk!”
But that wasn’t all McGee had. Not by a long-shot.
Abby chose that particular moment to snatch the phone from McGee’s shaking hand and come to the sputtering agent’s rescue, taking charge of the conversation, and calling Gibbs’ attention to the long-abandoned garage on the other side of the Anacostia, sandwiched conveniently between two equally deserted warehouses due for demolition sometime early next week. There’d been a report of a pickup with out-of-state plates matching Anglin’s spotted in the area recently and McGee had been the one to propose the idea of a connection, speculating the more-familiar territory of an old garage might just be what Anglin was looking for. Sort of a haven in an unknown town.
“A haven huh?” Gibbs contemplated the idea for only a second. Without another word, he snapped the phone shut, gestured toward Todd, and put his feet into motion.
“Where we going?” Todd asked as she hurried to catch up.
“To get DiNozzo.”
From the outside, the abandoned garage looked exactly like any other decaying building ready for its final destruction. Sitting fairly far off the side street and backed by the flowing waters of the Anacostia, the outside façade was a crumbling mass of desolation, concrete and mortar in random, scattered-sized chunks and the dirty, chipping window frames nothing more than ravaged holders for broken shards and hanging bits of ragged glass sections. Even in the evening gloom, it was old and ugly and obviously should have been gone from this site long before now.
There was an old pick up parked to one side and its out-of-state tags identifying it as James Anglin’s vehicle was the first indicator they were following a solid lead. Gibbs watched as Chris Pachi carefully looked inside the cab, turned back to make direct eye contact, and then shake his head negatively. No one was in the vehicle.
The second sign they discovered was even more telling. There was a moderate, fresh blood trail leading ominously in a relatively straight line from the river embankment to the crumbling building, splatters and smears darkly apparent against the concrete under their feet. Gibbs was sure, if they took the time to check, there’d be a small boat stowed somewhere along the shoreline but no one was going to waste the time to do that now.
Gibbs nodded toward the other two teams who’d converged on the site, signaling for them to spread out around the perimeter, determined to take the front entrance himself, where the blood trail ended. He was glad for their support, thankful they’d been close by investigating other sites in the area when he’d called for back-up, and knew they wouldn’t try to undermine his leadership by reporting back to the Director. As far as Gibbs was concerned, Morrow could just stick his order where the sun didn’t shine. He could feel Todd directly at his back and was bolstered by her unspoken encouragement and the affirmative nods he received from the others before they dispersed.
“No one goes until I give the word,” Gibbs fiercely whispered his command into the compact mic strapped to one wrist, waiting only long enough to hear the positive replies in his ear bud.
Looking once back over his shoulder toward his companion, he carefully pushed against the rusting, damaged door with the fingertips of one hand, cautiously opening the scarred, dented panel with just enough pressure to peer inside. It made a low, mournful, creaking sound and Gibbs held his breath, silently hoping it wouldn’t decide to fall from its corroding hinges and alert anyone within. The interior was dank and dim and ripe with the odor of vermin excrement. He grimaced against the sour, fetid odor that assaulted his senses, immediately recognizing the distinctive smell of rodents. The wharf rats grew huge in this section of the city, living off of the garbage of humans and openly scavenging the docks for whatever the river provided. He’d once witnessed a hungry rat launch itself into the waters of the Anacostia, trying to reach a dead fish floating a couple of feet away from the bank, and had watched in amazement as it had successfully wrestled and shoved the bloated, rotting corpse until it got it to ground.
Swallowing down a morbid thought of DiNozzo’s body being used as feed for a swarming frenzy of wharf rats, Gibbs pressed his lips into a thin line and took another step forward, determined to check out the rest of the building as swiftly as possible. If DiNozzo was here, as they now suspected, he was going to make sure the younger agent wasn’t any rodent’s unwilling chow, dead or alive.
Another cautious step brought him to an open doorway, possibly once the dividing line between a small office area they now stood in and a section used as one of the mechanic’s bays, and he paused to focus his hearing outward. It was darker in this section, the dim illumination from the street lamps outside just not strong enough to be of much help inside, so he now had to rely on his other senses to get him further along. Gripping his weapon tighter with his right hand and adjusting a flashlight in his left, Gibbs kept his body slightly angled and moved forward again.
Sweeping the beams of their lights from side to side, both agents peered guardedly around the filthy, crumbling interior and checked for any sign of their missing colleague. Small, beady eyes reflected eerily back at them from several places around the large area, the brightness catching their feral gazes vibrantly before they turned and scampered into gnawed holes and gaping slats, disappearing quickly into the walls and floors. There was litter everywhere, small piles of garbage and old newspapers compacted in certain spots around the room, and Gibbs realized he was looking at the exposed nests for the constantly breeding animals. This building must be thriving with the stinking, disease-carrying vermin.
“Gibbs,” a muted voice sounded in their ear buds and both agents froze.
“Go ahead,” Gibbs responded just as softly.
“Got an open door back here,” the quiet voice reported. “Looks like it was forced open fairly recently. Should we proceed?”
“Negative,” he ordered. “Stand your ground and wait for my call.”
“Understood.”
Gibbs glanced at Todd, catching her serious, dark eyes, and tipped his head, knowing she’d heard the hushed conversation and comprehended his unspoken command. He didn’t want anyone else to beat them to their goal. If DiNozzo was on the premises, he wanted first shot at the bastard who’d brought him here. Literally.
Most LEOs found situations like this, where the life of a fellow agent was at risk, to be some of the most difficult circumstances to handle strictly by the book. It was all too easy to think about being in the same position, of falling prey to an unstable personality and being unable to defend yourself. Tempers could flare out of control at the drop of a hat, violence often just led to more violence, and suspects usually didn’t survive long enough for apprehension and arrest. And, many times, the mourning of a lost agent took place in the days that followed. That knowledge made Gibbs’ adrenaline pump even faster. There was no way in hell he was going to be mourning for DiNozzo in the coming days…there were other things he’d rather do with the younger man and they both had to be *extremely* alive to do them.
A muted sound from another area halted their forward motion. A deep, thudding noise…and the soft clanking of chains…occurred once more and then stopped. Their flashlights illuminated another doorway but this one was closed tightly and located well to the back of the bay, far from their present location.
Gibbs tried to make sense of the room’s arrangement, rapidly recalling the setups he’d seen in other garages. His keen eyes swept through the dimness and imagined vehicles rolling in through the large, heavily boarded up openings to the right, moving into specific positions where huge, hydraulic lifts would raise and lower them at the mechanic’s will. The walls would be an organized mass of tools and equipment and the floors near the baseboards lined with jacks and tanks and an assortment of bins and barrels used for oil changes and fluid disposal. He could picture it all in his mind’s eye.
But a doorway in the very back? It clearly wasn’t an exit to the outside but looked to be more of a secure storage area within the building itself. This had him momentarily stymied. He frowned and gripped his weapon tighter, not sure if he was looking at a sealed room or if there was another entrance from a different area. He belatedly wished he’d made the time to get McGee to pull up schematics and floor plans.
Another sound instantly drew their attention. A voice, maybe, clearly muffled by the dividing distance and the closed partition. They covered the space quickly, footsteps barely discernable in their approach, while Gibbs softly relayed the information to the other agents. He called for one team to come in as backup but ordered them to hold their distance; the other team was still needed to watch the rear entrance.
Carefully, Gibbs placed the end of the flashlight between his teeth and slowly reached out to grab the door handle, the round, metal sphere seeming awfully cold under his flesh. He turned it slightly, testing the amount of give, and could feel it was unlocked. Silently releasing the knob, he stepped back and looked closely at the hardware, seeing it was hinged to open outward. That would make their entrance more awkward…awkward but not impossible.
The deep thudding noise occurred again but, this time, was accompanied by hard, harsh, peel of laughter. The sound made Gibbs go cold and he could easily envision all sorts of horrendous activities taking place just on the other side. He had to move now.
Raising his left wrist to his lips so he could speak into the mic, Gibbs quietly informed the other agents of his plans. “Suspect may be in a back room. Todd and I are going in. Pachi, keep alert in case someone comes out the back.”
Gibbs barely registered Pachi’s affirmative before he and Todd repositioned themselves outside the doorway, arranging so she could be the one to open the panel. He waited until she had a firm grasp on the knob, nodded once, and rushed forward as soon as she flung it open, yelling out commands as he moved.
“NCIS! Hands in the air!”
At the other end of the wide but shallow room and illuminated only by a lone Coleman lantern, James Anglin swiftly maneuvered his husky body behind the one suspended crudely from a ceiling hook by a length of heavy, rusting chain and snarled back at the intruders. He leveled a handgun and held it securely against the side of DiNozzo’s bloody, drooping head.
“I’ll kill the sumbitch!” He shouted, pressing the barrel end cruelly to the battered forehead, heedless of the broken, ripped skin and the low, almost inaudible moan that bubbled eerily from between his captive’s lips. He jostled the limp, hanging body, making the chains rattle, and got a better grasp on DiNozzo’s ripped shirt with his free hand. “One more move closer and he’s dead meat!”
Gibbs took one look into Anglin’s dark eyes and knew, without a doubt, DiNozzo would be dead, one way or the other, even if they didn’t move any closer. There was too much grief and anguish and torment reflected back in that wild gaze, too much revenge simmering, and the sight almost took Gibbs’ breath away…because it was one he recognized easily.
Years ago, when he’d been at a loss of how to live without his wife and child and had been so wracked with the pain of their deaths, he’d vowed to take his revenge on the man responsible. He’d been consumed by those rising emotions, letting them replace all the love and affection he’d had for his family, and had focused every ounce of his being on retribution. It had eaten his soul alive, consuming all the good he’d carried within when he’d been a devoted father and a loving husband, and he’d readily changed into a cold, cruel, empty shell of a man, barely able to recognize himself when he happened to look in the mirror. He’d spent his days and nights carefully preparing, cautiously stalking his prey, and had used every bit of his training and knowledge to locate his intended victim.
Only after he’d killed the man responsible for the murder of his family and returned to his empty home did he realize his revenge hadn’t eased his pain at all. He still missed them terribly, he still grieved for them almost every day, and he still had an emptiness in his chest that, no matter what he did, could not be filled.
And, now, James Anglin was going through the very same thing, experiencing the same emotions. The young man was in terrible pain and, as far as he could see with his anguished eyes, only DiNozzo’s death would set him free and ease his unbearable suffering.
“Killing him is not the answer,” Gibbs spoke as steadily as he could, knowing the words would probably not be enough, just as they hadn’t been for him when Shannon and Kelly had died, but he had to try. He could see that Anglin was using DiNozzo’s own weapon and watched as he adjusted his grip on the unfamiliar gun. “Just put the weapon down and we can talk about this.”
“There ain’t nothing to talk about!” Anglin all but screamed back, the sound echoing strangely around the confines of the dim room. The lantern’s flickering light produced wavering shadows upon the decaying walls, making the images move and twitch in an allusion of some ritualistic dance. “He killed my Margie and, now, he’s gonna pay!”
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth then. Gibbs flung desperately around in his mind, trying to think of something to say to buy a little more time for his agent, knowing he was just delaying the inevitable. He could clearly see there was no back exit in this room. In this tight space, he grimly realized there would probably be more than one death today.
“Wait!” Todd suddenly spoke up, lending her feminine voice to the mix and slowly taking a step closer to her supervisor.
Gibbs could see Anglin’s eyes immediately home in on the woman’s position and was glad she was still relatively behind him. He didn’t want her to get any closer and was glad when she didn’t attempt to move further.
Anglin frowned and snarled in her direction. “What the hell’s a woman doin’ here?”
Gibbs could hear when Todd swallowed softly but didn’t move a muscle when she spoke again. He watched Anglin like a hawk, gun still at ready and poised to take his shot.
“Your Margie lived three years after she was struck by that car, didn’t she?” Todd managed to sound soothing as she asked her question, making sure to use the possessive form to show she knew how important his sister was to him.
Anglin scowled and shifted a bit, eyes flickering quickly over Todd’s petite form. The gun never shifted in location, the smooth, round opening still digging roughly into DiNozzo’s temple.
“Yeah,” he agreed grudgingly. “She hung on for a few years. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Don’t you want Tony to suffer like she did?” Todd asked as smoothly as she could, using the skills she’d honed while with the FBI. “Don’t you want him to go through everything she did? Don’t you want him to linger for years, too?”
The suggestion caught Anglin…and Gibbs…by surprise. It was as bold an idea as Gibbs had ever heard and, maybe, she’d be able to convince the distraught man to leave DiNozzo in a vegetative state instead of just killing him outright. The thought was scary. Looking at the battered form hanging so lifelessly in the chains, Gibbs could almost believe his agent was already suffering from massive head trauma and would, indeed, be in the same predicament as Margaret had been. But Anglin only shook his head and looked at her like she was crazy.
“You stupid cunt,” his voice was laced with scorn, “I want him dead!”
Even though Gibbs was able to clearly read the intent in the young man’s eyes and saw the minute squeezing of the trigger from across the room, Anglin was still able to get off a round before the NCIS agent’s bullet tore through his head and splattered bone fragments and brain matter all over the rear wall. As his lifeless body was hitting the ground, agents were instantly swarming in and filling the tight space, rapidly calling out directions and taking charge. Gibbs and Todd converged on their wounded teammate, willingly leaving the cleanup to the others.
Anglin’s shot had grazed across DiNozzo’s forehead, leaving an angry, bleeding furrow on an already ravaged face. They gingerly released his mangled-looking wrists from the chains and carefully lowered him to the dirty floor, whipping off jackets to pillow his damaged head and cover his chilled, still body.
Gibbs knew there was an ambulance on the way, knew the paramedics would be in within moments, but time began to stretch interminably out. He wanted to begin the healing process now, wanted to reach out and fold the loose flaps of scalp back into their correct positions, and wanted the sluggish blood flow stopped. He tore off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving him in a starkly white T-shirt, and handed it over to Todd, allowing her to swiftly rip the fabric into several makeshift bandages, using one to press gently against the new gun shot wound. Gibbs cautiously cradled DiNozzo’s head in his lap, keeping it off the nasty ground and slightly elevated.
“He’s still alive,” Todd whispered, her hands beginning to shake and her voice cracking with raw emotion. “He’s still alive.”
Gibbs could only grunt his assent, watching the slow rise and fall of his agent’s chest. He knew Pachi and the others were taking care of Anglin‘s body, knew they were already recording the scene and gathering information for their reports but, right now, he just wanted to watch DiNozzo breathe.
When the paramedics burst through the doorway and pushed Gibbs and Todd away from DiNozzo, the older agent forced himself to walk the short distance back to Anglin’s body. He stood silently over the dead man, regarding the still form, and thought of the parallels of life, regarding how similar people could be in their thought processes and decisions. James Anglin might not have lost a wife and a daughter but he did lose the one person he loved most in this world and Gibbs knew exactly what that felt like. He didn’t want to believe he was anything like Anglin but, with the method he’d used to even the score with the man who’d destroyed his family, Gibbs reluctantly recognized a kinship…
…and didn’t like the realization one bit.
Turning back to watch the paramedics work and seeing they were getting close to transferring his wounded agent to a waiting stretcher, Gibbs decided it was time for a major change. If…no…*when* DiNozzo got better, they’d have a long talk about life and revenge and pain and, maybe, even their feelings for each other.
Gibbs pressed his lips into a thin line, wincing at that thought. This was not going to be easy, for either of them, but, with the injuries and damage DiNozzo had sustained, Gibbs figured he had plenty of time to get the words right. For the first time since he’d closed the door to his heart all those years ago, Gibbs allowed a tendril of sweet emotion to escape from the tight confines of his soul…and it felt good.
Still worrying about DiNozzo but feeling inordinately relieved because of his decision, Gibbs took up his place rightful beside the younger man’s stretcher, placing a supportive hand on the closest shoulder, and escorting him out into the night. He took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. Tomorrow would be a new start for them both.
END
Author: Matt
Warnings, rating, disclaimer, etc included with part 1/2
Jethro Gibbs was well past the point of being pissed.
Caitlin Todd stealthily watched as her boss continued to pace angrily back and forth beside the taped off area surrounding the benches situated next to the Anacostia River, his fluid, stalking gait easily reminding her of a tiger she’d recently seen at the National Zoo while on an outing with a visiting brother and his family. The large, magnificent cat had moved steadily, silently, on its huge, padded paws, its cool, keen, intelligent eyes sweeping and seeing every person, every movement, acutely aware of everything that was taking place within the vicinity of its cage. And always…*always*…its sharp gaze had been filled with some dark and dangerous warning. There had been no doubt in her mind that powerful animal would have gladly ripped out the throat of any person stupid enough to get too close.
Gibbs wore that very same look now.
Averting her gaze from the almost-hypnotizing cadence of Gibbs’ restless pacing and catching the eye of Agent Chris Pachi, Todd slowly moved over to where the man was purposefully rising from an uncomfortable-looking squat within the boundaries of the yellow tape and waited patiently until he secured his section of the active crime scene. He wore a grim, serious expression and the usual teasing light in his pale eyes was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t have to speak to communicate the severity of the situation.
After their conversation out by the Anacostia, Gibbs had waited almost thirty full minutes for DiNozzo to get his act together and reappear in the bullpen, growing angrier each time he glanced at the vacant desk across the room. He’d impatiently expected DiNozzo’s imminent return and had wondered if his wayward agent had decided to play hooky out in the fresh air of the waning day instead of joining them back in the building. He’d finally tried reaching him by cell phone and, when no answer had come, he’d ignored Todd’s blatant, nervous looks and had stalked back outside to bodily collect the rebellious younger man himself.
He’d let his anger rise as he’d swiftly exited the building, silently castigating himself for allowing his almost-dormant feelings for his senior field agent to get in the way of his professionalism and common sense. There’d been several damn good reasons why Gibbs had tucked those useless emotions away all those years ago and why he’d purposefully focused solely on his work. More than anything, it gave him a viable measure of control. But with just one look into those soulful, almost-pleading, green eyes, Gibbs had caved.
Stalking down the path leading toward the Anacostia and fighting those ever-present demons yammering away in his mind, he’d almost believed DiNozzo had taken advantage of the situation. Gibbs had realized he’d momentarily lowered his defenses, allowed a small measure of his tightly concealed feelings to escape, and had been secretly pleased the younger man had felt he could confide something so painfully personal. It had stroked his ego like a warm caress and made a slight crack in his rock-solid façade…and it had felt damn good. He’d even decided he’d be the one to sit outside DiNozzo’s apartment and keep watch, just to make sure nothing happened during the night.
And then everything had changed.
Once back by the benches, he’d taken one, startled, incredulous look at the bloodied and vacant sitting area, sharp eyes quickly cataloging every aspect of the messy scene, and again hurriedly attempted to contact his missing agent by cell phone, heart hammering wildly in his chest. He’d felt sick to his stomach, his breath catching hard in his chest. When the slightly battered but still functioning piece of discarded technology had softly beeped, guiding him to its hidden location under a nearby bush, Gibbs had felt his world narrow and his blood run cold.
As far as he knew, there’d been only one explanation for the situation and, in Gibbs’ mind, the reason just didn’t bode well, especially for DiNozzo. If the warnings from ‘Celeste’ in Baltimore had been accurate, Margaret Anglin’s brother was truly here and had, somehow, perpetrated this mind-boggling crime.
After contacting the Director to inform him of the confusing and suspicious state of affairs, the Naval Yard had been thrown into an immediate lockdown. Within moments, Tom Morrow had promptly pulled Gibbs away, turning the initial investigation over to a different, well-qualified but less personally invested team, and forcing the extremely frustrated agent to sit and relate all he knew of the events leading up to DiNozzo’s disappearance to another Team Leader. Gibbs had barked and growled, bristling under the constraints of the orders, but had swiftly given all the information he had available, testily relating his private conversation with DiNozzo and, all the while, hating the feeling he was, somehow, breaking a valued confidence.
And damning himself for ever doubting DiNozzo.
The Baltimore PD was contacted and Celeste Dupree hustled through an informative video conference, the once-sketchy details of what had transpired during her recent conversation with DiNozzo rapidly fleshing out under direct questioning, and, suddenly, they had a name and a face to accompany their investigation. James Anglin, no longer just the brother of Margaret, was now being investigated and sought for the disappearance…and possible abduction and murder…of a federal agent. BOLOs were issued and LEOs in the vicinity were on high alert and, even though James Anglin was venting his revenge upon one, specific individual, everyone at NCIS felt this was a personal affront to the entire agency.
Of them all, Jethro Gibbs was feeling it most acutely. Since coming upon the scene by the river, he’d done nothing but berate himself, cursing his own stupidity, criticizing and condemning and wondering, like those around him, how someone could have infiltrated and attacked so easily. And speculating what in the hell could have possessed him to leave his visibly troubled agent alone on that damn bench. He should have known better, he should have allowed those repressed feelings to stay around a bit longer, and he sure as hell should have taken better notice of anyone else lurking in the immediate area.
Then, he’d recalled the lone, big maintenance worker, the one he’d scared away with one of his patented scowls, and began cursing himself all over again. Could it have been James Anglin in those coveralls? Could that man have really found his way onto the premises and created a way to stalk his prey so effortlessly? The thought was enough to boggle his already whirling mind.
As the day began to slowly recede and the waning light began to fade, an uneasy shifting in the mood of those in The Yard began to take place. No new leads were coming in, no sightings or clues or hints of DiNozzo’s whereabouts were happening. Time was the enemy now.
Gibbs and Todd stayed close to the source of the direct evidence, the woman jogging back and forth between the confines of the building and the scene outside, her lithe, athletic body easily covering the distance without problem. While Gibbs was involved with stalking and staring along the borders of the crime tape, Todd was on a completely different type of hunt.
“What have you found, Chris?” She asked quietly, careful not to let anyone overhear her questioning the agent. Director Morrow would be extremely unhappy if he heard she was actively seeking information concerning this investigation but, between facing Gibbs’ ire or Morrow’s unhappiness, she’d risk her chances with Morrow. Any day.
Pachi nodded her way, snapping off his gloves, and stepping close to the yellow dividing tape, bringing him near Todd’s peripheral position. “Preliminary indicators are suggesting someone got the drop on Tony, incapacitated him, and, somehow, removed him from the area.” He shook his head in frustration, well aware she and Gibbs had already figured out that much themselves. “We’re not sure if that’s actually what occurred or how that was accomplished because Sullivan is still trying to make heads or tails of the blood trail,” he turned slightly, indicating toward the banks of the Anacostia where another agent diligently worked, “but you can clearly see he was dragged to the edge of the pavement. Sullivan found blood on the railing, so we think it’s likely he was dumped over.”
“Oh, my God,” Todd shifted nervously, raising a hand to press the back of her fingers to her lips, concerned eyes drifting toward the flowing water. As aggravating as DiNozzo could be at times, the thought of him hurt and in the cold, dirty river sent a new surge of worry through her body.
“Cait,” Pachi faced her, fully understanding and empathizing with her reaction, “there are divers working and rescue boats running downriver right now. If he’s in the water, he’ll be found.”
“But he’s hurt.” Todd swallowed convulsively, eyes sweeping the chaotic area. She refused to say the word ‘dead’, though that thought was already floating in the back of her mind. “And there’s so much blood.”
Pachi nodded in understanding and reached out with a brief, comforting touch. “It just looks that way to you because it belongs to Tony. You need to remember to view the situation strictly with an investigator’s eye, not a as friend.”
“He’s your friend, too, Chris,” she reminded him in soft, sharp criticism.
Pachi sighed and nodded, looking down and running a hand over his thinning hair. “Christ, I know. Believe me, I’m trying my damnedest to stay as detached as possible but…”
Now it was Todd’s turn to reach out. She waited until Pachi looked back up and steadily met his tired eyes. They both didn’t want to think the worse but, as more time passed, DiNozzo’s chances of survival diminished.
“Just keep us up to date,” she squeezed his arm one last time and turned away, knowing Gibbs was expecting an update.
“Will do,” Pachi assured and got back to work.
Todd raised her eyes and immediately caught sight of Gibbs heading her way, his quick stride indicating he had something important to share. She swiftly skirted the edges of the yellow crime scene tape and met him halfway, anxious to hear his news.
“Abby just called and gave me a heads-up,” he spoke, taking her elbow and steering her toward the main building. “She pulled up the tapes of all the nearby security cameras and found something. She’s getting ready to inform Morrow now.”
“And she called you first?” Todd was still amazed at the level of loyalty Gibbs received from Abby Sciuto but smiled conspiratorially. “We just going to show up in his office for the viewing, without an invitation?”
“Yep.”
Ten minutes later, Morrow, Gibbs, Todd and a small handful of other agents were trying to make sense of what they were viewing from the security tapes, astounded by the sheer boldness of the attack and abduction of one of their own. In broad daylight, in plain sight of the NCIS main building, a man dressed in maintenance clothes had approached a clearly contemplative DiNozzo from behind, bludgeoned him repeatedly with some type of metallic tool, and dragged the unconscious agent to the edge of the Anacostia. All in a matter of moments. James Anglin, if the man hauling DiNozzo around was, indeed, him, was tall, unbelievably strong, and far from gentle.
But the video had led them to assume he hadn’t just dumped DiNozzo into the water as they’d all originally feared. Climbing quickly over the low railing, the then-unidentified man had hauled his captive over and dropped swiftly down, reappearing only moments later in the bow of a small, nondescript rowboat. They all suspected the lumpy shape by Anglin’s feet had been DiNozzo but, with the form concealed by some tarp-like cover, they hadn’t been absolutely sure. Hence, the continued searching by the divers and rescue boats. It had only taken a matter of minutes for the abductor to manually paddle the craft out of the range of the cameras. It was plain to see he’d been heading toward the opposite shore but, before he could escape the ever-ready lenses, he’d made the mistake of raising his face. The image Abby had cleaned up and enlarged had matched that of James Anglin’s driver license and, even though it was as Gibbs had suspected, the confirmation only made his gut clench tighter. What had occurred once Anglin had made landfall on the outer side was anyone’s call right now.
Morrow had dispatched a number of teams to the other side of the river and redirected the boats already in the water to the opposite bank. He’d felt the weight of Gibbs’ intense stare while giving his orders and, after completing his instructions, finally turned to face the man and the young woman standing purposefully at his side.
“I’m not fool enough to think you aren’t already involved in this investigation somehow,” he stated without rancor, pointedly gazing at his two remaining agents. He sighed and sat down at his desk, looking up at both of them with calculating eyes. “Why don’t you try to convince me that it wouldn’t be more foolish if I let you assist in the search?”
Gibbs stepped forward and leaned his fists on the edge of Morrow’s desk, dropping his gaze and giving his superior a deadly stare. He tersely informed the Director of the young computer wiz he’d borrowed from the Norfolk office to begin digging a little deeper into the life of Margaret Anglin’s brother. Gibbs had heard rumors about the insanely young MIT graduate while at a recent team leader meeting, had heard that Timothy McGee was one of the best at getting information quickly, and had considered bringing the relatively new agent onto his own team sometime in the near future. Abby always had her hands full with the amount of evidence they continually brought in during cases, so having an extra pair of eyes and ears was only logical. They deserved to have someone who could handle all the technology and take that particular part of the work load away. McGee seemed the reasonable choice. Gibbs just never thought he’d be needing the young man so soon.
“You think he’ll be able to find something?” Morrow asked skeptically. “We’ve already obtained everything the Baltimore PD had available on that family and have agents interviewing Anglin’s local sheriff. Seems kind of redundant.”
“Maybe.”
Gibbs could straddle a fence with the best of them. He wasn’t prepared to tell Morrow about his gut feeling, not sure the Director would understand anyway, so he just met the other man’s gaze steadily and remained stoically silent. They’d worked together long enough to know each other well enough by now.
Morrow shook his head and sighed. “Just stay out of the way of the main team. You know the drill and are expected to comply.”
“Understood, sir,” Gibbs responded automatically, knowing Morrow didn’t really expect him to actually obey.
The Director eyed his agents one, last time and bent his head back to his paperwork. “Good.”
And just like that, Gibbs and Todd were dismissed. They made their way quickly down the stairs and started toward their desks, only to be brought up short by the trilling of Gibbs’ phone. Gibbs snatched his cell from his pocket and brought it to his ear.
“Yeah. Gibbs.”
On the other end, McGee, who was housed temporarily in Abby’s lab, hurriedly stammered his way through an explanation of James Anglin’s background, focusing on the volatile young man’s checkered past and his almost-natural ability for automotive mechanics. There were no credit cards or cell phone records to trace, no type of paper trail at all and, before long, Gibbs was gritting his teeth and seriously contemplating pulling his hair out…or, better yet, McGee’s.
“If that’s all you’ve got for me,” he snarled into the hated piece of technology, “you should have kept your sorry ass back in Norfolk!”
But that wasn’t all McGee had. Not by a long-shot.
Abby chose that particular moment to snatch the phone from McGee’s shaking hand and come to the sputtering agent’s rescue, taking charge of the conversation, and calling Gibbs’ attention to the long-abandoned garage on the other side of the Anacostia, sandwiched conveniently between two equally deserted warehouses due for demolition sometime early next week. There’d been a report of a pickup with out-of-state plates matching Anglin’s spotted in the area recently and McGee had been the one to propose the idea of a connection, speculating the more-familiar territory of an old garage might just be what Anglin was looking for. Sort of a haven in an unknown town.
“A haven huh?” Gibbs contemplated the idea for only a second. Without another word, he snapped the phone shut, gestured toward Todd, and put his feet into motion.
“Where we going?” Todd asked as she hurried to catch up.
“To get DiNozzo.”
From the outside, the abandoned garage looked exactly like any other decaying building ready for its final destruction. Sitting fairly far off the side street and backed by the flowing waters of the Anacostia, the outside façade was a crumbling mass of desolation, concrete and mortar in random, scattered-sized chunks and the dirty, chipping window frames nothing more than ravaged holders for broken shards and hanging bits of ragged glass sections. Even in the evening gloom, it was old and ugly and obviously should have been gone from this site long before now.
There was an old pick up parked to one side and its out-of-state tags identifying it as James Anglin’s vehicle was the first indicator they were following a solid lead. Gibbs watched as Chris Pachi carefully looked inside the cab, turned back to make direct eye contact, and then shake his head negatively. No one was in the vehicle.
The second sign they discovered was even more telling. There was a moderate, fresh blood trail leading ominously in a relatively straight line from the river embankment to the crumbling building, splatters and smears darkly apparent against the concrete under their feet. Gibbs was sure, if they took the time to check, there’d be a small boat stowed somewhere along the shoreline but no one was going to waste the time to do that now.
Gibbs nodded toward the other two teams who’d converged on the site, signaling for them to spread out around the perimeter, determined to take the front entrance himself, where the blood trail ended. He was glad for their support, thankful they’d been close by investigating other sites in the area when he’d called for back-up, and knew they wouldn’t try to undermine his leadership by reporting back to the Director. As far as Gibbs was concerned, Morrow could just stick his order where the sun didn’t shine. He could feel Todd directly at his back and was bolstered by her unspoken encouragement and the affirmative nods he received from the others before they dispersed.
“No one goes until I give the word,” Gibbs fiercely whispered his command into the compact mic strapped to one wrist, waiting only long enough to hear the positive replies in his ear bud.
Looking once back over his shoulder toward his companion, he carefully pushed against the rusting, damaged door with the fingertips of one hand, cautiously opening the scarred, dented panel with just enough pressure to peer inside. It made a low, mournful, creaking sound and Gibbs held his breath, silently hoping it wouldn’t decide to fall from its corroding hinges and alert anyone within. The interior was dank and dim and ripe with the odor of vermin excrement. He grimaced against the sour, fetid odor that assaulted his senses, immediately recognizing the distinctive smell of rodents. The wharf rats grew huge in this section of the city, living off of the garbage of humans and openly scavenging the docks for whatever the river provided. He’d once witnessed a hungry rat launch itself into the waters of the Anacostia, trying to reach a dead fish floating a couple of feet away from the bank, and had watched in amazement as it had successfully wrestled and shoved the bloated, rotting corpse until it got it to ground.
Swallowing down a morbid thought of DiNozzo’s body being used as feed for a swarming frenzy of wharf rats, Gibbs pressed his lips into a thin line and took another step forward, determined to check out the rest of the building as swiftly as possible. If DiNozzo was here, as they now suspected, he was going to make sure the younger agent wasn’t any rodent’s unwilling chow, dead or alive.
Another cautious step brought him to an open doorway, possibly once the dividing line between a small office area they now stood in and a section used as one of the mechanic’s bays, and he paused to focus his hearing outward. It was darker in this section, the dim illumination from the street lamps outside just not strong enough to be of much help inside, so he now had to rely on his other senses to get him further along. Gripping his weapon tighter with his right hand and adjusting a flashlight in his left, Gibbs kept his body slightly angled and moved forward again.
Sweeping the beams of their lights from side to side, both agents peered guardedly around the filthy, crumbling interior and checked for any sign of their missing colleague. Small, beady eyes reflected eerily back at them from several places around the large area, the brightness catching their feral gazes vibrantly before they turned and scampered into gnawed holes and gaping slats, disappearing quickly into the walls and floors. There was litter everywhere, small piles of garbage and old newspapers compacted in certain spots around the room, and Gibbs realized he was looking at the exposed nests for the constantly breeding animals. This building must be thriving with the stinking, disease-carrying vermin.
“Gibbs,” a muted voice sounded in their ear buds and both agents froze.
“Go ahead,” Gibbs responded just as softly.
“Got an open door back here,” the quiet voice reported. “Looks like it was forced open fairly recently. Should we proceed?”
“Negative,” he ordered. “Stand your ground and wait for my call.”
“Understood.”
Gibbs glanced at Todd, catching her serious, dark eyes, and tipped his head, knowing she’d heard the hushed conversation and comprehended his unspoken command. He didn’t want anyone else to beat them to their goal. If DiNozzo was on the premises, he wanted first shot at the bastard who’d brought him here. Literally.
Most LEOs found situations like this, where the life of a fellow agent was at risk, to be some of the most difficult circumstances to handle strictly by the book. It was all too easy to think about being in the same position, of falling prey to an unstable personality and being unable to defend yourself. Tempers could flare out of control at the drop of a hat, violence often just led to more violence, and suspects usually didn’t survive long enough for apprehension and arrest. And, many times, the mourning of a lost agent took place in the days that followed. That knowledge made Gibbs’ adrenaline pump even faster. There was no way in hell he was going to be mourning for DiNozzo in the coming days…there were other things he’d rather do with the younger man and they both had to be *extremely* alive to do them.
A muted sound from another area halted their forward motion. A deep, thudding noise…and the soft clanking of chains…occurred once more and then stopped. Their flashlights illuminated another doorway but this one was closed tightly and located well to the back of the bay, far from their present location.
Gibbs tried to make sense of the room’s arrangement, rapidly recalling the setups he’d seen in other garages. His keen eyes swept through the dimness and imagined vehicles rolling in through the large, heavily boarded up openings to the right, moving into specific positions where huge, hydraulic lifts would raise and lower them at the mechanic’s will. The walls would be an organized mass of tools and equipment and the floors near the baseboards lined with jacks and tanks and an assortment of bins and barrels used for oil changes and fluid disposal. He could picture it all in his mind’s eye.
But a doorway in the very back? It clearly wasn’t an exit to the outside but looked to be more of a secure storage area within the building itself. This had him momentarily stymied. He frowned and gripped his weapon tighter, not sure if he was looking at a sealed room or if there was another entrance from a different area. He belatedly wished he’d made the time to get McGee to pull up schematics and floor plans.
Another sound instantly drew their attention. A voice, maybe, clearly muffled by the dividing distance and the closed partition. They covered the space quickly, footsteps barely discernable in their approach, while Gibbs softly relayed the information to the other agents. He called for one team to come in as backup but ordered them to hold their distance; the other team was still needed to watch the rear entrance.
Carefully, Gibbs placed the end of the flashlight between his teeth and slowly reached out to grab the door handle, the round, metal sphere seeming awfully cold under his flesh. He turned it slightly, testing the amount of give, and could feel it was unlocked. Silently releasing the knob, he stepped back and looked closely at the hardware, seeing it was hinged to open outward. That would make their entrance more awkward…awkward but not impossible.
The deep thudding noise occurred again but, this time, was accompanied by hard, harsh, peel of laughter. The sound made Gibbs go cold and he could easily envision all sorts of horrendous activities taking place just on the other side. He had to move now.
Raising his left wrist to his lips so he could speak into the mic, Gibbs quietly informed the other agents of his plans. “Suspect may be in a back room. Todd and I are going in. Pachi, keep alert in case someone comes out the back.”
Gibbs barely registered Pachi’s affirmative before he and Todd repositioned themselves outside the doorway, arranging so she could be the one to open the panel. He waited until she had a firm grasp on the knob, nodded once, and rushed forward as soon as she flung it open, yelling out commands as he moved.
“NCIS! Hands in the air!”
At the other end of the wide but shallow room and illuminated only by a lone Coleman lantern, James Anglin swiftly maneuvered his husky body behind the one suspended crudely from a ceiling hook by a length of heavy, rusting chain and snarled back at the intruders. He leveled a handgun and held it securely against the side of DiNozzo’s bloody, drooping head.
“I’ll kill the sumbitch!” He shouted, pressing the barrel end cruelly to the battered forehead, heedless of the broken, ripped skin and the low, almost inaudible moan that bubbled eerily from between his captive’s lips. He jostled the limp, hanging body, making the chains rattle, and got a better grasp on DiNozzo’s ripped shirt with his free hand. “One more move closer and he’s dead meat!”
Gibbs took one look into Anglin’s dark eyes and knew, without a doubt, DiNozzo would be dead, one way or the other, even if they didn’t move any closer. There was too much grief and anguish and torment reflected back in that wild gaze, too much revenge simmering, and the sight almost took Gibbs’ breath away…because it was one he recognized easily.
Years ago, when he’d been at a loss of how to live without his wife and child and had been so wracked with the pain of their deaths, he’d vowed to take his revenge on the man responsible. He’d been consumed by those rising emotions, letting them replace all the love and affection he’d had for his family, and had focused every ounce of his being on retribution. It had eaten his soul alive, consuming all the good he’d carried within when he’d been a devoted father and a loving husband, and he’d readily changed into a cold, cruel, empty shell of a man, barely able to recognize himself when he happened to look in the mirror. He’d spent his days and nights carefully preparing, cautiously stalking his prey, and had used every bit of his training and knowledge to locate his intended victim.
Only after he’d killed the man responsible for the murder of his family and returned to his empty home did he realize his revenge hadn’t eased his pain at all. He still missed them terribly, he still grieved for them almost every day, and he still had an emptiness in his chest that, no matter what he did, could not be filled.
And, now, James Anglin was going through the very same thing, experiencing the same emotions. The young man was in terrible pain and, as far as he could see with his anguished eyes, only DiNozzo’s death would set him free and ease his unbearable suffering.
“Killing him is not the answer,” Gibbs spoke as steadily as he could, knowing the words would probably not be enough, just as they hadn’t been for him when Shannon and Kelly had died, but he had to try. He could see that Anglin was using DiNozzo’s own weapon and watched as he adjusted his grip on the unfamiliar gun. “Just put the weapon down and we can talk about this.”
“There ain’t nothing to talk about!” Anglin all but screamed back, the sound echoing strangely around the confines of the dim room. The lantern’s flickering light produced wavering shadows upon the decaying walls, making the images move and twitch in an allusion of some ritualistic dance. “He killed my Margie and, now, he’s gonna pay!”
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth then. Gibbs flung desperately around in his mind, trying to think of something to say to buy a little more time for his agent, knowing he was just delaying the inevitable. He could clearly see there was no back exit in this room. In this tight space, he grimly realized there would probably be more than one death today.
“Wait!” Todd suddenly spoke up, lending her feminine voice to the mix and slowly taking a step closer to her supervisor.
Gibbs could see Anglin’s eyes immediately home in on the woman’s position and was glad she was still relatively behind him. He didn’t want her to get any closer and was glad when she didn’t attempt to move further.
Anglin frowned and snarled in her direction. “What the hell’s a woman doin’ here?”
Gibbs could hear when Todd swallowed softly but didn’t move a muscle when she spoke again. He watched Anglin like a hawk, gun still at ready and poised to take his shot.
“Your Margie lived three years after she was struck by that car, didn’t she?” Todd managed to sound soothing as she asked her question, making sure to use the possessive form to show she knew how important his sister was to him.
Anglin scowled and shifted a bit, eyes flickering quickly over Todd’s petite form. The gun never shifted in location, the smooth, round opening still digging roughly into DiNozzo’s temple.
“Yeah,” he agreed grudgingly. “She hung on for a few years. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Don’t you want Tony to suffer like she did?” Todd asked as smoothly as she could, using the skills she’d honed while with the FBI. “Don’t you want him to go through everything she did? Don’t you want him to linger for years, too?”
The suggestion caught Anglin…and Gibbs…by surprise. It was as bold an idea as Gibbs had ever heard and, maybe, she’d be able to convince the distraught man to leave DiNozzo in a vegetative state instead of just killing him outright. The thought was scary. Looking at the battered form hanging so lifelessly in the chains, Gibbs could almost believe his agent was already suffering from massive head trauma and would, indeed, be in the same predicament as Margaret had been. But Anglin only shook his head and looked at her like she was crazy.
“You stupid cunt,” his voice was laced with scorn, “I want him dead!”
Even though Gibbs was able to clearly read the intent in the young man’s eyes and saw the minute squeezing of the trigger from across the room, Anglin was still able to get off a round before the NCIS agent’s bullet tore through his head and splattered bone fragments and brain matter all over the rear wall. As his lifeless body was hitting the ground, agents were instantly swarming in and filling the tight space, rapidly calling out directions and taking charge. Gibbs and Todd converged on their wounded teammate, willingly leaving the cleanup to the others.
Anglin’s shot had grazed across DiNozzo’s forehead, leaving an angry, bleeding furrow on an already ravaged face. They gingerly released his mangled-looking wrists from the chains and carefully lowered him to the dirty floor, whipping off jackets to pillow his damaged head and cover his chilled, still body.
Gibbs knew there was an ambulance on the way, knew the paramedics would be in within moments, but time began to stretch interminably out. He wanted to begin the healing process now, wanted to reach out and fold the loose flaps of scalp back into their correct positions, and wanted the sluggish blood flow stopped. He tore off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving him in a starkly white T-shirt, and handed it over to Todd, allowing her to swiftly rip the fabric into several makeshift bandages, using one to press gently against the new gun shot wound. Gibbs cautiously cradled DiNozzo’s head in his lap, keeping it off the nasty ground and slightly elevated.
“He’s still alive,” Todd whispered, her hands beginning to shake and her voice cracking with raw emotion. “He’s still alive.”
Gibbs could only grunt his assent, watching the slow rise and fall of his agent’s chest. He knew Pachi and the others were taking care of Anglin‘s body, knew they were already recording the scene and gathering information for their reports but, right now, he just wanted to watch DiNozzo breathe.
When the paramedics burst through the doorway and pushed Gibbs and Todd away from DiNozzo, the older agent forced himself to walk the short distance back to Anglin’s body. He stood silently over the dead man, regarding the still form, and thought of the parallels of life, regarding how similar people could be in their thought processes and decisions. James Anglin might not have lost a wife and a daughter but he did lose the one person he loved most in this world and Gibbs knew exactly what that felt like. He didn’t want to believe he was anything like Anglin but, with the method he’d used to even the score with the man who’d destroyed his family, Gibbs reluctantly recognized a kinship…
…and didn’t like the realization one bit.
Turning back to watch the paramedics work and seeing they were getting close to transferring his wounded agent to a waiting stretcher, Gibbs decided it was time for a major change. If…no…*when* DiNozzo got better, they’d have a long talk about life and revenge and pain and, maybe, even their feelings for each other.
Gibbs pressed his lips into a thin line, wincing at that thought. This was not going to be easy, for either of them, but, with the injuries and damage DiNozzo had sustained, Gibbs figured he had plenty of time to get the words right. For the first time since he’d closed the door to his heart all those years ago, Gibbs allowed a tendril of sweet emotion to escape from the tight confines of his soul…and it felt good.
Still worrying about DiNozzo but feeling inordinately relieved because of his decision, Gibbs took up his place rightful beside the younger man’s stretcher, placing a supportive hand on the closest shoulder, and escorting him out into the night. He took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. Tomorrow would be a new start for them both.
END