Chapter Eleven
Tim pushed the 'talk' button and held the phone to his ear.
“Sara,” he greeted, his voice choked. Could it be over?
The voice that answered his greeting was not Sara.
“McGee.” The voice was gruff, the tone full of so many things.
Tim wasn't prepared; he'd expected to hear Sara's voice. He needed it to be Sara's voice.
But it wasn't, and Tim's mind couldn't grasp, at first, who this foreign voice belonged to. Foreign, yet so familiar.
The voice had to speak a second time for Tim's mind to snap in understanding, and it wasn't the voice so much as the so-familiar impatient tone that Tim knew so well.
“McGee!”
This time Tim knew exactly who it was, but he still wasn't prepared. This voice didn't belong on the other end of this phone. This voice belonged to the one person that might be able to stop him from finishing his mission to rescue Sara.
And yet it was so good to hear him.
“Boss?” Tim rasped. It was a surreal feeling, to hear Gibbs' voice, and Tim wondered for a moment if his mind was doing that twisty thing on him again, where his reality was skewed. Gibbs didn't belong in this reality except as a vague threat far behind him.
“McGee! Talk to me,” Gibbs demanded.
McGee's uncertainty fled in an instant. A well-spring of emotions flooded through him and he gasp-sobbed into the phone, just once before he regained control. The truck swerved under Tim's in-attention and Tim pulled sharply over and let the truck slide to a stop on the soft shoulder. He came to a jolting halt and killed the ignition.
“Boss, I......Boss?” Tim was at a loss. There were so many things to say, yet nothing he could say. He instinctively looked around him warily, looking for anything out of place on the highway and all that surrounded it. Gibbs could be anywhere and if he was nearby, Tim was caught. Then he could forget rescuing his sister.
“Boss.....” no, Tim reminded himself, not Boss. There was no way he was an agent anymore. Tim had to clamp down on the emotions that thought caused. He struggled to make his tone flat and emotionless. So different from the emotions bombarding him, but instinct told him that any weakness in his armor would be used against him. “Gibbs,” he amended in the newly-flat voice. “Where are you?”
“Where are you, McGee?” Gibbs' voice was so strong with worry that McGee took a deep but silent breath to keep from reacting.
“I'm......” don't give details, New Tim reminded him from the depths of his mind. Gibbs is clever. He'll stop you, you know he will. “I'm going after Sara. To find Sara.” Stay factual, show no emotion.
“Yeah, McGee,” Gibbs said, his tone softening to one that Tim had rarely ever heard from the man. Gentleness. Sympathy. “I know, Tim. I'll help you. We'll do it together. Just tell me where you are.”
“I'm.........” Tim wanted help. He wanted Gibbs right there as a sturdy support. Gibbs always knew what to do and Tim could follow his lead. He wanted to tell Gibbs.
But he knew he couldn't. New Tim was right about that, Tim knew. Gibbs would stop Tim, he wouldn't help him. If Gibbs caught up to him, he wouldn't let Tim continue his chase for Sara.
“I can't tell you, Gibbs,” Tim said miserably.
“Tim, you sound like you want to,” Gibbs said softly. “You trust me, don't you, McGee?”
“Yes, Bo.....Gibbs,” Tim replied instantly, because he did. He always had.
“Then why won't you tell me where you are? Why won't you let me help you find Sara?”
“Because, Gibbs,” Tim said in a new voice, New Tim's hardened tone. Gibbs was being clever, sneaky, and he couldn't allow that. It would be the end. New Tim was afraid of Gibbs, because he knew Gibbs could stop him if given half the chance. Old Tim wanted to find his sister, but he had too many morals, too much logic, to do it without help. New Tim was the one that understood that Sara was all that mattered, no matter the cost.
“Some things just have to be done alone,” he explained flatly. “Don't call this phone again.”
“McGee, wait,” Gibbs ordered, a tone that even New Tim, that new hard part of Tim McGee, obeyed on instinct. Gibbs seemed to sense that Tim was about to terminate the call. He was right. But Tim hesitated and Gibbs spoke again in that moment.
“McGee......Tim. Just tell me this. Are you okay?”
A corner of Tim's mouth lifted at the question; it would have been a frightening smile if anyone were there to see it.
“No,” New Tim answered. Or maybe it was Old Tim. It was hard to keep them separate now. “I don't think I am.”
Tim pressed the 'end' button, cutting off the call. He started the truck and pulled onto the highway, ready to resume his mission once more. Every minute counted, and he'd wasted time.
As the truck gained speed he tossed the phone out the window, where it bounced and shattered along the asphalt.
Somehow he knew that Sara would not be texting the phone again.
Gibbs sighed as he heard the dead air of McGee's disconnected phone. Something was off with his agent. More than the fact that he was on a cross country jaunt in chase of bad guys. He'd sounded.......tortured. That was the only way Gibbs could describe it. And something about the quality of his voice was disturbing, especially there at the end.
Gibbs was almost afraid of what they'd find when they caught up to McGee.
Gibbs' phone rang and he answered it without looking to identify the caller. He'd expected the call.
“Hey, Abbs,” he greeted, ignoring DiNozzo's inquiring look in the seat next to him. “Did you get it?”
“Sure did, Gibbs,” Abby answered. “Highway seventy, twenty miles from the Kentucky border- first town- Harlan!”
“Good job, Abbs. Let me know if any more calls are made to or from that phone.” He didn't wait for a reply before disconnecting, and Abby wouldn't have expected him to.
Gibbs glanced in the rear view mirror at the car waiting behind him with Ziva at the wheel, then over at DiNozzo in the passenger seat next to him. He ignored the two men in the backseat.
“Let's go get McGee,” he said.
Gibbs set a record pace on Highway seventy that Ziva matched with enthusiasm. The prisoners in the back seat were forced to brace themselves as they stared wide eyed at the speed of the passing terrain.
___________________________________
McGee knew where they were. Where Sara was. It hadn't taken much. Harlan was not a large town, and it was primarily devoted to tourists visiting during hunting season in the thick woods surrounding the town. People were remembered, most of the lodgings in the town were known.
All it had taken was a bit of confidence from New Tim, talk of meeting his four friends that he'd lost track of.........flashing a picture or two.
The town's residents had given the information freely and cheerfully.
They'd stopped and stocked up on provisions, he'd found out. He'd been told that by the very clerk that had helped them. Tim asked a few basic questions but had forcibly refrained from breaking character, as hard as it had been. If he started asking after the welfare of one of his 'friends' it would be suspicious, and Tim didn't need that.
He'd found out they'd headed to what the store clerk had called 'the old Allen hunting cabin'. How he'd deduced that, Tim didn't know. And what's more, he didn't really care. Knowing where they were was enough for him. The clerk even gave him directions.
His first desire had been to rush out to the cabin's isolated, woodsy location and bust in, grab Sara, and run.
But that wasn't realistic, or rational. Tim had laughed to himself at the idea of any rational thought by that point, but he still knew it was a bad idea. Sara might not make it out alive if Tim wasn't careful.
They'd stocked up on supplies, so they obviously weren't going anywhere. That gave Tim time to prepare. Not that it would take so long.
He sat in the old truck across the street from the sporting goods and hunting supply store. He'd been in there earlier, asking after Sara and her captors, and he'd seen the array of weapons they had for sale. Weapons he would need.
Tim had wanted so badly to whip out his handgun and demand that the store clerk hand over what he wanted, but that would be too much attention on him, and he'd maybe never make it past the town's excuse for law enforcement in time to get to Sara.
So Tim sat, nothing else to do but wait until it was time. He would wait for the store to close, wait for the summer night to close in. Then he would break into the store and quickly gather the guns and ammo he might need.
Then he'd drive as close as he could to the cabin and hike out into the woods, following the vague directions he'd been given, and rescue Sara from the hunting cabin. No matter what it took. Quietly or in the midst of chaos, he didn't care. However it worked out, so long as he took Sara from those that had her.
He had no doubt that it would involve guns, though.
____________________________________
Tony lifted his head from against the car window and straightened his posture. Even in his sleep he'd detected a difference in the car's speed. He'd somehow become accustomed to Gibbs' method of driving enough to fall asleep, and he attributed it to his years of riding shotgun with his Boss. What had awakened him was the car slowing dramatically.
“We're there?” Tony asked, his voice hoarse from his uncomfortable sleep. He looked out at the passing scenery. A sparse little town set in the middle of woodland. They seemed to be in what passed for the center of town, with it's collection of small businesses, most closed for the night. The periodic streetlights sent dim pools of yellow light to the pavement at regular intervals. Other than that, the streets and the buildings were dark.
“Uh huh,” Gibbs confirmed.
Tony stretched fully, his bones cracking, and glanced over at his boss. Gibbs looked tired, worn, and Tony felt a stab of guilt for having fallen asleep and left the other man behind the wheel. Not that he'd had a choice, however; Tony's suggestion to switch places for awhile had been met with a negative reaction and no amount of talking or attempts to convince had done any good. That was out of character for Gibbs and that made Tony worry more about him. Despite Gibbs' preference to be the usual driver, on over-long drives he had no problem sharing the responsibility; it behooved them to stay as rested as possible for the upcoming case-involved work when driving long distances to a crime-scene.
But Gibbs was different this time. He was driven, determined. That wasn't too unusual in it's own right, but Tony worried that Gibbs was running on empty. He had tunnel vision. This wasn't just a case, this was the recovery of one of his own men.
It was time for Tony to step up as Senior Field Agent, the Boss' second in command, and do the job that didn't necessarily fall into his job description but that he'd always taken on with the utmost importance.
Tony pulled his cell phone from it's holder and pushed number three on speed dial. The recipient picked up halfway into the first ring, and Tony glanced into the mirror on his side of the car to see the car behind following them closely. Ziva's dark silhouette moved slightly as the woman put her own phone to her ear as she answered the call.
“We're here,” Tony said lightly.
“As I can see, Tony,” Ziva returned immediately. Their banter took no concentration or thought, so second- nature it was to them. For half a second Tony expected the usual third part to their banter to resound from the backseat with McGee's amused but long-suffering attitude. Almost simultaneously, he remembered the reason they were there in the first place, with an anxious squeeze in his chest.
Back to the business at hand.
“Ziva,” Tony let his voice adopt an edge of firmness that had been used only a handful of times since his own stint as Boss when Gibbs was in Mexico. “Find us a motel. No telling how long we'll be here and we could use the rest.”
Ziva didn't protest the order. “Okay. And you?”
Tony looked over at Gibbs, who returned his agent's attention instead of watching the road. Tony stared firmly at his boss, almost daring him to protest. “Me and Gibbs are going to find the local LEOs and borrow their jail for our prisoners. Then we'll join you at the motel once you let us know where it is.”
Ziva gave an affirmative answer into the phone before disconnected that Tony barely heard. He stoically met his boss' eyes with a determination that he wouldn't let go of.
Gibbs stared right back, but finally conceded to Tony with one curt nod, then returned his attention to the dark, empty street ahead of them.
Tony breathed a quiet sigh of relief that Gibbs wasn't going to make it hard on him, because Tony took that part of his job seriously. He wouldn't have backed down without a fight. He clipped his cell back onto his hip and didn't see the small smile Gibbs let slip as the older man scanned the buildings for the local jail.
Gibbs slowed the car to a rolling stop at a stop sign, and both men's attention was grabbed by the garishly flashing lights to the right of them and a couple building up on the intersecting street.
Two local police cruisers were parked directly in front of a business, their lights flashing and lighting up the dark street with the stark red of the flashing lights on top of both cars.
Gibbs and Tony looked at each other, then back at the scene.
“We found the LEOs,” Tony understated.
“Yep,” was all Gibbs said as he turned down that street and came to a stop behind the cruisers.
Three officers stood in a pool of light from one of the streetlights talking to a man that was obviously the unhappy proprietor of the business.
Tony looked up at the large sign above the business to see that it was sporting goods and hunting supply store. Probably one of the most prosperous businesses for such a town.
The door of the place was hanging crookedly from it's hinges, the window plating of the top half of the door shattered. The shards of glass glittered brightly on the concrete under the pulsing police strobe lights. An obvious break in.
Gibbs exited the car to approach the officers, a disturbing expression on his face. Tony glanced back at the drowsing prisoners in the back seat before following his Boss from the car.
Tony knew Gibbs had the same suspicion he did that McGee might be responsible for raising the town of Harlan's crime rate.
Time to see what Probie had been up to.
TBC
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“Sara,” he greeted, his voice choked. Could it be over?
The voice that answered his greeting was not Sara.
“McGee.” The voice was gruff, the tone full of so many things.
Tim wasn't prepared; he'd expected to hear Sara's voice. He needed it to be Sara's voice.
But it wasn't, and Tim's mind couldn't grasp, at first, who this foreign voice belonged to. Foreign, yet so familiar.
The voice had to speak a second time for Tim's mind to snap in understanding, and it wasn't the voice so much as the so-familiar impatient tone that Tim knew so well.
“McGee!”
This time Tim knew exactly who it was, but he still wasn't prepared. This voice didn't belong on the other end of this phone. This voice belonged to the one person that might be able to stop him from finishing his mission to rescue Sara.
And yet it was so good to hear him.
“Boss?” Tim rasped. It was a surreal feeling, to hear Gibbs' voice, and Tim wondered for a moment if his mind was doing that twisty thing on him again, where his reality was skewed. Gibbs didn't belong in this reality except as a vague threat far behind him.
“McGee! Talk to me,” Gibbs demanded.
McGee's uncertainty fled in an instant. A well-spring of emotions flooded through him and he gasp-sobbed into the phone, just once before he regained control. The truck swerved under Tim's in-attention and Tim pulled sharply over and let the truck slide to a stop on the soft shoulder. He came to a jolting halt and killed the ignition.
“Boss, I......Boss?” Tim was at a loss. There were so many things to say, yet nothing he could say. He instinctively looked around him warily, looking for anything out of place on the highway and all that surrounded it. Gibbs could be anywhere and if he was nearby, Tim was caught. Then he could forget rescuing his sister.
“Boss.....” no, Tim reminded himself, not Boss. There was no way he was an agent anymore. Tim had to clamp down on the emotions that thought caused. He struggled to make his tone flat and emotionless. So different from the emotions bombarding him, but instinct told him that any weakness in his armor would be used against him. “Gibbs,” he amended in the newly-flat voice. “Where are you?”
“Where are you, McGee?” Gibbs' voice was so strong with worry that McGee took a deep but silent breath to keep from reacting.
“I'm......” don't give details, New Tim reminded him from the depths of his mind. Gibbs is clever. He'll stop you, you know he will. “I'm going after Sara. To find Sara.” Stay factual, show no emotion.
“Yeah, McGee,” Gibbs said, his tone softening to one that Tim had rarely ever heard from the man. Gentleness. Sympathy. “I know, Tim. I'll help you. We'll do it together. Just tell me where you are.”
“I'm.........” Tim wanted help. He wanted Gibbs right there as a sturdy support. Gibbs always knew what to do and Tim could follow his lead. He wanted to tell Gibbs.
But he knew he couldn't. New Tim was right about that, Tim knew. Gibbs would stop Tim, he wouldn't help him. If Gibbs caught up to him, he wouldn't let Tim continue his chase for Sara.
“I can't tell you, Gibbs,” Tim said miserably.
“Tim, you sound like you want to,” Gibbs said softly. “You trust me, don't you, McGee?”
“Yes, Bo.....Gibbs,” Tim replied instantly, because he did. He always had.
“Then why won't you tell me where you are? Why won't you let me help you find Sara?”
“Because, Gibbs,” Tim said in a new voice, New Tim's hardened tone. Gibbs was being clever, sneaky, and he couldn't allow that. It would be the end. New Tim was afraid of Gibbs, because he knew Gibbs could stop him if given half the chance. Old Tim wanted to find his sister, but he had too many morals, too much logic, to do it without help. New Tim was the one that understood that Sara was all that mattered, no matter the cost.
“Some things just have to be done alone,” he explained flatly. “Don't call this phone again.”
“McGee, wait,” Gibbs ordered, a tone that even New Tim, that new hard part of Tim McGee, obeyed on instinct. Gibbs seemed to sense that Tim was about to terminate the call. He was right. But Tim hesitated and Gibbs spoke again in that moment.
“McGee......Tim. Just tell me this. Are you okay?”
A corner of Tim's mouth lifted at the question; it would have been a frightening smile if anyone were there to see it.
“No,” New Tim answered. Or maybe it was Old Tim. It was hard to keep them separate now. “I don't think I am.”
Tim pressed the 'end' button, cutting off the call. He started the truck and pulled onto the highway, ready to resume his mission once more. Every minute counted, and he'd wasted time.
As the truck gained speed he tossed the phone out the window, where it bounced and shattered along the asphalt.
Somehow he knew that Sara would not be texting the phone again.
Gibbs sighed as he heard the dead air of McGee's disconnected phone. Something was off with his agent. More than the fact that he was on a cross country jaunt in chase of bad guys. He'd sounded.......tortured. That was the only way Gibbs could describe it. And something about the quality of his voice was disturbing, especially there at the end.
Gibbs was almost afraid of what they'd find when they caught up to McGee.
Gibbs' phone rang and he answered it without looking to identify the caller. He'd expected the call.
“Hey, Abbs,” he greeted, ignoring DiNozzo's inquiring look in the seat next to him. “Did you get it?”
“Sure did, Gibbs,” Abby answered. “Highway seventy, twenty miles from the Kentucky border- first town- Harlan!”
“Good job, Abbs. Let me know if any more calls are made to or from that phone.” He didn't wait for a reply before disconnecting, and Abby wouldn't have expected him to.
Gibbs glanced in the rear view mirror at the car waiting behind him with Ziva at the wheel, then over at DiNozzo in the passenger seat next to him. He ignored the two men in the backseat.
“Let's go get McGee,” he said.
Gibbs set a record pace on Highway seventy that Ziva matched with enthusiasm. The prisoners in the back seat were forced to brace themselves as they stared wide eyed at the speed of the passing terrain.
___________________________________
McGee knew where they were. Where Sara was. It hadn't taken much. Harlan was not a large town, and it was primarily devoted to tourists visiting during hunting season in the thick woods surrounding the town. People were remembered, most of the lodgings in the town were known.
All it had taken was a bit of confidence from New Tim, talk of meeting his four friends that he'd lost track of.........flashing a picture or two.
The town's residents had given the information freely and cheerfully.
They'd stopped and stocked up on provisions, he'd found out. He'd been told that by the very clerk that had helped them. Tim asked a few basic questions but had forcibly refrained from breaking character, as hard as it had been. If he started asking after the welfare of one of his 'friends' it would be suspicious, and Tim didn't need that.
He'd found out they'd headed to what the store clerk had called 'the old Allen hunting cabin'. How he'd deduced that, Tim didn't know. And what's more, he didn't really care. Knowing where they were was enough for him. The clerk even gave him directions.
His first desire had been to rush out to the cabin's isolated, woodsy location and bust in, grab Sara, and run.
But that wasn't realistic, or rational. Tim had laughed to himself at the idea of any rational thought by that point, but he still knew it was a bad idea. Sara might not make it out alive if Tim wasn't careful.
They'd stocked up on supplies, so they obviously weren't going anywhere. That gave Tim time to prepare. Not that it would take so long.
He sat in the old truck across the street from the sporting goods and hunting supply store. He'd been in there earlier, asking after Sara and her captors, and he'd seen the array of weapons they had for sale. Weapons he would need.
Tim had wanted so badly to whip out his handgun and demand that the store clerk hand over what he wanted, but that would be too much attention on him, and he'd maybe never make it past the town's excuse for law enforcement in time to get to Sara.
So Tim sat, nothing else to do but wait until it was time. He would wait for the store to close, wait for the summer night to close in. Then he would break into the store and quickly gather the guns and ammo he might need.
Then he'd drive as close as he could to the cabin and hike out into the woods, following the vague directions he'd been given, and rescue Sara from the hunting cabin. No matter what it took. Quietly or in the midst of chaos, he didn't care. However it worked out, so long as he took Sara from those that had her.
He had no doubt that it would involve guns, though.
____________________________________
Tony lifted his head from against the car window and straightened his posture. Even in his sleep he'd detected a difference in the car's speed. He'd somehow become accustomed to Gibbs' method of driving enough to fall asleep, and he attributed it to his years of riding shotgun with his Boss. What had awakened him was the car slowing dramatically.
“We're there?” Tony asked, his voice hoarse from his uncomfortable sleep. He looked out at the passing scenery. A sparse little town set in the middle of woodland. They seemed to be in what passed for the center of town, with it's collection of small businesses, most closed for the night. The periodic streetlights sent dim pools of yellow light to the pavement at regular intervals. Other than that, the streets and the buildings were dark.
“Uh huh,” Gibbs confirmed.
Tony stretched fully, his bones cracking, and glanced over at his boss. Gibbs looked tired, worn, and Tony felt a stab of guilt for having fallen asleep and left the other man behind the wheel. Not that he'd had a choice, however; Tony's suggestion to switch places for awhile had been met with a negative reaction and no amount of talking or attempts to convince had done any good. That was out of character for Gibbs and that made Tony worry more about him. Despite Gibbs' preference to be the usual driver, on over-long drives he had no problem sharing the responsibility; it behooved them to stay as rested as possible for the upcoming case-involved work when driving long distances to a crime-scene.
But Gibbs was different this time. He was driven, determined. That wasn't too unusual in it's own right, but Tony worried that Gibbs was running on empty. He had tunnel vision. This wasn't just a case, this was the recovery of one of his own men.
It was time for Tony to step up as Senior Field Agent, the Boss' second in command, and do the job that didn't necessarily fall into his job description but that he'd always taken on with the utmost importance.
Tony pulled his cell phone from it's holder and pushed number three on speed dial. The recipient picked up halfway into the first ring, and Tony glanced into the mirror on his side of the car to see the car behind following them closely. Ziva's dark silhouette moved slightly as the woman put her own phone to her ear as she answered the call.
“We're here,” Tony said lightly.
“As I can see, Tony,” Ziva returned immediately. Their banter took no concentration or thought, so second- nature it was to them. For half a second Tony expected the usual third part to their banter to resound from the backseat with McGee's amused but long-suffering attitude. Almost simultaneously, he remembered the reason they were there in the first place, with an anxious squeeze in his chest.
Back to the business at hand.
“Ziva,” Tony let his voice adopt an edge of firmness that had been used only a handful of times since his own stint as Boss when Gibbs was in Mexico. “Find us a motel. No telling how long we'll be here and we could use the rest.”
Ziva didn't protest the order. “Okay. And you?”
Tony looked over at Gibbs, who returned his agent's attention instead of watching the road. Tony stared firmly at his boss, almost daring him to protest. “Me and Gibbs are going to find the local LEOs and borrow their jail for our prisoners. Then we'll join you at the motel once you let us know where it is.”
Ziva gave an affirmative answer into the phone before disconnected that Tony barely heard. He stoically met his boss' eyes with a determination that he wouldn't let go of.
Gibbs stared right back, but finally conceded to Tony with one curt nod, then returned his attention to the dark, empty street ahead of them.
Tony breathed a quiet sigh of relief that Gibbs wasn't going to make it hard on him, because Tony took that part of his job seriously. He wouldn't have backed down without a fight. He clipped his cell back onto his hip and didn't see the small smile Gibbs let slip as the older man scanned the buildings for the local jail.
Gibbs slowed the car to a rolling stop at a stop sign, and both men's attention was grabbed by the garishly flashing lights to the right of them and a couple building up on the intersecting street.
Two local police cruisers were parked directly in front of a business, their lights flashing and lighting up the dark street with the stark red of the flashing lights on top of both cars.
Gibbs and Tony looked at each other, then back at the scene.
“We found the LEOs,” Tony understated.
“Yep,” was all Gibbs said as he turned down that street and came to a stop behind the cruisers.
Three officers stood in a pool of light from one of the streetlights talking to a man that was obviously the unhappy proprietor of the business.
Tony looked up at the large sign above the business to see that it was sporting goods and hunting supply store. Probably one of the most prosperous businesses for such a town.
The door of the place was hanging crookedly from it's hinges, the window plating of the top half of the door shattered. The shards of glass glittered brightly on the concrete under the pulsing police strobe lights. An obvious break in.
Gibbs exited the car to approach the officers, a disturbing expression on his face. Tony glanced back at the drowsing prisoners in the back seat before following his Boss from the car.
Tony knew Gibbs had the same suspicion he did that McGee might be responsible for raising the town of Harlan's crime rate.
Time to see what Probie had been up to.
TBC
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