Seven
Tim felt his face smooth into blankness, waiting for the shot. He stared into Mutt's eyes. It was a strange feeling. Tim didn't want to hear the gunshot, he didn't want to feel the hot bullet ripping through his flesh, but suddenly..... he just wasn't afraid. He would be, he knew, if he were to let himself actually think about it, but he didn't. Because right now, the only thing that mattered was getting to Sara and bringing her home. If he were killed here today, he couldn't do that, and that was unacceptable, unthinkable. He wasn't willing to entertain that possibility and what was left was....nothing. No fear, no expectation, no thoughts. Even the defiance faded, though Tim could feel the spark underneath the nothingness, ready to be called up when needed, but it was a detached feeling, as if he were looking at it, and himself, from far away. The emotionless, nothing feeling would terrify Tim later, remembered as if it were a bad dream, but now, this first time, it took over Tim's mind as if knowing that was the way to survive and Tim didn't fight it.
Mutt's gun had only been raised for a few seconds when the change in Tim took place. Whatever it was he saw in Tim's eyes stalled his actions, stiffening his fingers from pulling the trigger. No one, not even Mutt, knew whether he really would have squeezed the trigger eventually, because he never got the chance to try.
The club-like branch was still gripped tightly, raised with Tim's hands, and at Mutt's minuscule hesitation, Tim's arms pulled back and slung the branch forward, his hands releasing it just right. The action had been robotic, an automatic instinct for survival, but when the heavy branch thudded against Mutt's chest and knocked him backward, Tim's awareness flooded through him, erasing the strange non-emotion. Tim moved.
Two quick and giant strides and a leap landed Tim atop Mutt, knocking the breath out of both of them. Mutt reacted with a jarring punch to Tim's jaw that hurt like hell, but Tim held to Mutt tightly and refused to be dislodged. Tim rode through the pain and shook his head to clear the stars. He knew he wouldn't withstand another punch from Mutt's heavy fist.
Tim pulled his arms around, still restrained, backhanded Mutt's face three times in quick succession, back and forth, from one side to the other, stopping only by force of will. Tim tried to tell himself that he'd only done it because he'd have no chance at overpowering the large man otherwise, but.....it felt good. Oh, man, did it feel good to lay into that asshole!
And it worked; for a few minutes at least, which was all Tim needed. Then he let experience take over. Mutt was stunned enough that he didn't resist, though he was still heavy. Tim lifted himself off the man's body long enough to roll him to his stomach. Then he pulled Mutt's thick arms behind him and leaned forward to rest his weight on them, just in case.
Tim heard the leaves rustling and looked over to see Jeff stumbling around on his knees. He seemed a bit confused or dazed, but he was trying to regain his feet.
“Stay where you are!” Tim ordered in his 'agent' voice, but he was ignored.
He felt around in Mutt's tight hip pocked awkwardly, finally finding what he was looking for; a handful of the same white, plastic ties that they'd restrained Tim with.
Tim used three of them on Mutt, just in case, and he wasn't gentle.
He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Jeff bearing down on him in a stumbling, plodding way. Tim rolled off Mutt quickly, grabbed up the gun that had been dropped in a two-handed grip and, on his back, pointed the gun at Jeff.
“Freeze! Don't move! I mean it!”
It took a second, but Jeff froze.
“On your knees,” Tim told him, “and put your hands on your head.”
Jeff complied, but he seemed to be coming out of the daze his semi-consciousness had put him in. His eyes were angry and his glance flicked back and forth between Tim and his partner lying restrained in the dirt.
Tim managed to stand, breathing heavily, but the gun steady in his hand. At his feet, Mutt groaned, rolled to his back, and sat up. Without looking down at him, Tim put a foot against Mutt's chest and shoved the man back down.
“Not yet, you don't,” Tim said. “You move before I tell you too, I'll put a bullet in you.” Tim had no doubt in himself that he would do it without hesitation, and he could see that Mutt heard the new steel in Tim's voice.
Mutt stayed put and said nothing, staring daggers at Tim and wiping the blood from his nose onto his shoulder. One of his eyes was already swelling shut and his jaw was bruised, and Tim marveled that it was his own handiwork. He'd never taken pleasure in the pain of someone else before now, and he hoped he never did again .
Tim backed away from the man's reach in case he got any ideas. His own jaw was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he didn't want another go round. Besides, he had another matter to take care of- Mutt's better half, so to speak.
Tim took two steps toward Jeff, training the gun point blank. He wanted Jeff to know he wasn't kidding.
“Use your left hand, reach into you jacket, and pull that knife out with your finger tips.” Tim had noticed the large knife clipped to Jeff's belt, and he didn't want to try restraining the man with his own wrists tied together. When Jeff held the knife dangling, Tim said, “Now toss it this way, and don't get any ideas. Nice and slow or I shoot.” Tim had no idea of Jeff's abilities with the hunting knife, but he'd seen Ziva use knives as throwing weapons, and he wasn't going to take the chance that Jeff had similar skill. He knew that if Jeff really did have such abilities, Tim could be dead before he knew the knife had left Jeff's hand, but he figured that if the other man knew Tim was careful and watching for something like that, it would be preemptive.
The knife landed with a thud at Tim's feet, and he quickly freed his hands. It felt good to be able to move his arms and wrists again. He felt pain in his wrists, but he knew better than to take his eyes off of Jeff. He'd worry about first aid later.
He approached Jeff slowly and went around behind him, as he would any perp, and warned him again not to move. To make sure Jeff knew he meant business, he pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of Jeff's dark head while he used his other hand to pull Jeff right hand off his head and behind his back. He followed suit with the other and secured Jeff's wrists tightly in the same manner he had Mutt's.
Both men securely restrained, Tim stepped back. “On your feet. Both of you,” he ordered. He kept the gun trained in their general direction as both men grunted and stumbled to their feet. Not so fun, is it? Tim asked them silently, but he kept the words to himself. He had no time for pettiness.
“Over there,” he waved the gun at the tree he'd hidden behind. It's narrower, split trunk would be just the right size for what he needed.
Both men obeyed and watched Tim warily as he approached. Jeff, the smarter of the two in Tim's estimation, tried to follow Tim with his eyes as Tim went around behind the men and the tree. “Eyes front!” Tim snapped. He was being as careful and cautious as he could- it wouldn't do to let either of them regain the upper hand or escape- but it was taking longer than he wanted, and his exhaustion and various aches were making him impatient.
Reaching through the wide gaps between the tree tree trunk, Tim pulled each man backward one at a time and used the remaining plastic ties to secure their hands to the tree. Once both men were effectively immobilized and secure, Tim let himself relax a little, but when the exhaustion filled the space of the diminishing adrenaline, he wondered if relaxing now was a mistake.
Tim walked around to the front to face the men and tucked the gun into his waistband. His pants were looser than they had been five days ago and the gun almost slid out, but he managed to find just the right spot to hold it. Despite everything, he'd have been humiliated if his coolness level, as Tony might have termed it, had been diminished by his gun sliding down the leg of his pants. He had to shake away the picture in his mind of him trying to fish it out while the two idiots snickered and laughed.
Tim warned both men to keep still- their feet were still free, after all- and he frisked each one. He removed several hidden weapons from each of them, from their ankles to their collars, a little chagrined that he hadn't done so before coming close enough to restrain them. Being alone, though, and without backup, he knew he'd done things just right to ensure his safety. It wasn't exactly his first apprehension.
Then he wondered why he was still thinking of this as a routine arrest, when it was anything but.
Tim tossed each weapon he found into the growing pile, amazed they'd had room on their bodies for the hardware of knives and small guns. Even a couple pairs of brass knuckles. He didn't let himself think about what they'd probably angrily imagined doing to him with each item once they'd caught him again, and he couldn't imagine why they'd played cat and mouse for so long when they could have easily gotten the upper hand during any one of their previous encounters by simply pulling a weapon. He even found a couple of things that he wasn't sure what they were, but were no doubt exotic torture devices that originated in other countries, as well as practical items like lock picks. He'd never thought either of the two men were new to the lifestyle of violence and pain, and it was easy to imagine both of them as the distributors, but Tim suddenly realized how lucky he was that they'd felt compelled to hold back with him. Then he wondered why they were compelled to hold back with him. Orders from their boss, maybe? But why? He'd have to mull that over later, when he had the time and energy, and could think a little straighter.
After all the ominous weapons he pulled from each of them, he looked at the can of pepper spray incongruously. “Pepper spray?” he asked Mutt with raised eyebrows. “Really?” He tossed the small can on top of the small pile of other weapons in the dirt. Mutt looked a little embarrassed that such an item had been pulled from his pocket, but he didn't comment Tim's sarcasm. Once Tim was certain both men were stripped of the tools of their trade- unless they'd made use of bodily crevasses, of which Tim had no intention of searching- he looked down at the pile and shook his head, wondering why they thought they'd ever need so many weapons at one time. Surely it wasn't all for him.
Tim bent down and retrieved from the pile his own knife that had last been seen sticking out of Jeff's shoulder.
“I appreciate you holding on to this for me,” Tim quipped, wiping it clean of Jeff's blood on the leg of his pants. They were already filthy, anyway. Tim walked several feet away and, under the curious eyes of his captives, sank to the ground wearily and let his weight rest against the tree behind him. He just suddenly needed to rest for a few minutes. He was so tired.
Tim absently wiped the blade against the grass, cleaning it further. He had made the comment to Jeff sarcastically, but he truly would have mourned the loss of the knife. He let his eyes slide closed and let his head fall against the tree as he remembered when Gibbs had given it to him.
During what had been a routine interview, Tim had had a problem with a suspect and had lost his side arm. It had all turned out okay, but later, Gibbs had reiterated his rule about always carrying a spare gun and always carrying a hidden blade or knife. Tim had taken Gibbs 'advice' about the spare gun from day one; it made sense to have a backup. But Tim had never been a knife person and the whole idea had made him uncomfortable enough that he'd blown off the 'rule', though he'd heard it many times. He knew Tony carried one. He didn't know about Kate, whether she'd had one or not, but she hadn't seemed to be a knife person, either. On the other hand, she had been a smart person, and smart people followed Gibbs' advice, especially if you were one of his agents, so what did he know? And now, of course, Ziva; her having one or more at all times pretty much went without saying, and Tim didn't think she was doing it on Gibbs' advice. He thought even Abby might have one.
Well, he'd mentioned to Gibbs that day his reluctance to carry a knife and had commented that he knew nothing about them anyway and wouldn't know how to go about finding a suitable one. The next evening, when the rest of the team had left for the day, Gibbs had held Tim back and had unceremoniously presented him with a nice looking but functional weapon of his own choosing, complete with a beautiful leather ankle sheath. He'd even shown Tim how to strap it on correctly and how to get a feel for it in his hand, and had taken the time to make sure it fit Tim's grip just right. Gibbs had guessed at what would fit Tim best when he'd picked the weapon out, and he'd chosen just right. Gibbs knew his weapons.
Tim had thanked Gibbs, touched that his boss would think of him enough for that. He hadn't been on the team long at that point and was still feeling his way and trying to fit in. When Tim had gotten home a little later, Tony had been waiting in his apartment- the first time he'd ever picked the lock. He'd somehow known about Gibbs' gift to Tim and he'd brought a weapon catalog for Tim to look through, stating correctly that he knew there wouldn't be such a magazine hanging around his apartment. When Tim asked why, Tony had stated that his own first knife had been a gift from Gibbs, as well, but he'd come close to losing it several times during hairy moments. And since he'd never want to lose the first thing Gibbs had ever given him, he'd put the gift away as a spare and ordered another one for everyday use.
Tim had thought that a great idea, but had never gotten around to doing it. Now he thought that might be something to take care of later. If there was a later. The way things were going, he wasn't so sure.
He no longer had long-term goals for anything, because he didn't know what was going to happen from one minute to the next. His only overall goal was getting Sarah away from her kidnappers, whatever that entailed. Tim knew it certainly meant his job, probably some jail time for some of the things he'd done- or might do. And depending on how things turned out and exactly who he was dealing with, maybe even his life.
Tim had started this desperate jaunt with the idea that he'd get his sister back and have them both safely home, both of them relieved and barely the worse for wear with an interesting story to tell others. That wasn't to say that he hadn't been worried, starting out. He'd completely understood the seriousness of the situation, the danger to both of them, and the dire possibilities. His goal had been to get them both home well and safe, and if possible, without anyone being the wiser until after the fact. But five days ago, his mind and body had been fresh and, though desperate to find Sara and afraid for her, he'd been able to force optimism and keep things in perspective. But now, he was worn out both physically and mentally, it had been over two days since he'd eaten or gotten any real rest, Gibbs -and maybe others- was on his trail, he'd had Mutt and Jeff to deal with, and his desperation had become an obsession. So much so that he couldn't plan for 'after rescuing Sara', because in his new state of mind, that was all there was. And if it meant doing terrible things, or giving up his life or his future, then that was simply the price to pay for Sara's freedom and her life.
And the small part of Tim's mind that realized he was changing became afraid, that last piece of common sense that was holding on tried to tell Tim to hold on to 'himself' as long as he could or he would be lost in a way that was much worse than prison, maybe even worse than death. If he lost that piece of himself, he'd never find his way back.
Tim pulled himself from his thoughts with effort and opened his tired, gritty eyes, staring up into the branches of the tree. It was hard to tell through the summer leaves, but he thought it would be getting dark in a few short hours. In that time, he had to get out of the woods, find transportation and get back on the right track to find Sara's trail. It would be harder after dark.
He reached down and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He was worried that his only lifeline to Sara had been smashed in his scuffle with Mutt. He read the last text again.
“Harlan, Kentucky,” he mused aloud. He wondered what was in Harlan, why they were taking Sara out of Virginia. Why are they even running to begin with? He wondered. They'd left instructions for me to meet them in the first place. Why would they take off and make me track them for days? Is it all some sick mind game? If so, I'm tired of playing. I'm ready to end it.
“You said that was your watch,” Tim heard, and he looked up to meet Mutt's accusing gaze. Tim shook his head incredulously and saw the realization dawning on Jeff's face that the phone was the 'watch' he'd heard chiming in the car. As if they had any right to feel scandalized.
“What can I say? I lied,” Tim retorted, repeating Mutt's words from the car. Mutt's face turned thunderous, growing angrier at his inability to take his anger out on it's source; namely, Tim.
Tim pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore how hard it was, sheathed his knife at his ankle, and approached the captive men. He looked at them with his head cocked to the side, pretending deep thought.
“Now what am I gonna do with the two of you? I don't think I'm up to extra baggage. I'm in a bit of a hurry, you know.”
Jeff's eyes narrowed. “You can't just leave us out here, tied like this.”
“Why not? You'd just slow me down.”
“You're a federal agent. You can't knowingly leave us to die.”
“Federal agent?” Tim asked. “I was. I don't think I am anymore. I'm sure the two of you had plans for me. Why don't you give me some ideas of what to do with you? Fork over some of those gruesome daydreams buried in your warped minds. You don't carry around weapons like this unless you know how to use them.” Tim gave a punctuating kick to the pile of weaponry on the ground, then reached down and picked up a large serrated hunting knife. He slapped the flat of the blade against his palm absently as he talked.
“Torture?” he guessed. “That sounds like something you two might do. You'd enjoy it too, wouldn't you? Especially you,” he said, pointing the knife at Mutt. “If it's any consolation, I appreciate that you held back until I could get away. I'm not a big fan of pain. I'll take that into account when I decide what to do with you. I won't even hold the concussion against you, Leslie, or my jaw, which might be fractured, the way it feels.” Tim paused and looked up at the two men, gratified to see dawning fear in both their eyes.
“'I'm just a regular guy, Jeff,” Tim said. He felt like he was watching a one man show, a play put on by himself and from a distance. Like he was watching a completely different and unknown person. “Maybe I was a federal agent, but now...... now I can do whatever I want.”
“My name's not Jeff,” the dark haired man croaked out.
Tim smiled. He didn't know what kind of a smile it was, but it made both men's eyes widen. “You'll always be Jeff to me.....Jeff.” Tim held up the large knife for both of them to see. “This one here is interesting. What were you gonna do with this one? You know, I saw one like this in a magazine a friend of mine gave me once. I'm not really one for large knives......don't they say the bigger the knife, the more you're compensating for something else? No? Well, maybe not, I've probably mixed my metaphors. I like the outdoors, but I've never cared for hunting. But I know a hunting knife when I see it. This one is used for gutting and skinning. Is that what you were gonna use it for? I just don't see you two as hunters. Not for animals, anyway. What else have you hunted for, guys? Huh?”
“Nothing,” Mutt sputtered, clearly terrified now. “Nothing. We don't hunt nothing! We weren't really gonna hurt you, we just had orders to bring you to our boss.”
Tim settled a Gibbs- worthy stare on Mutt's face and stepped forward until he was inches away from the other man's face. Mutt's breathing was fast and panicky and he blew his foul breath into Tim's face on each exhale, but Tim ignored it. He raised the large knife and trailed the tip of it lightly down the side of Mutt's cheek, from temple to chin, and underneath his throat. Mutt's eyes clenched shut in fear.
“Who? Who's your boss and why does he want me?” Tim asked softly.
“I don't know, I swear to God, I don't know.....” Mutt was sweating now, and shaking a little, and he'd lost his sarcastic, superior attitude. “......we're not given the details, we're given orders. We just follow them and get paid. That's it, I swear.”
Tim looked over to Jeff, who was watching avidly, and the other man nodded vigorously when he noticed Tim's attention focused on him.
“Do you think I'm stupid?” Tim asked, his tone growing fierce and angry. “Or maybe you're stupider than I thought. I know a lie when I hear it.” And it was true; Tim somehow knew, without a doubt, that even as scared as he was, Mutt was lying. At least about some of it. It was highly probable that the hired muscle didn't know why their boss wanted Tim, but nobody was ignorant about who signed their paychecks.
And that fact bothered Tim more than he'd like to admit. As terrified of Tim as Mutt was, both men were still either too loyal to their boss to give him up or more afraid of him than they were of Tim's immediate threat, and neither of them struck Tim as being the loyal type. Just who was their boss? What kind of person was he dealing with?
Tim hoped he wasn't making a mistake, but he felt the now familiar desperation settle in once more; every moment he wasn't on the move, Sara was getting farther away. He'd have to worry about who these jackasses worked for later. For now, he had more pressing matters.
He stepped back from Mutt and took a deep breath of pure air, free from Mutt's putrid breath. He tapped the knife against against his palm again.
“As much as I'd like to drag it out of you, I have somewhere else to be. I can't waste my time with you two.”
Tim raised the knife high over his head and, ignoring both men's frightened shouts, brought the knife down toward his target.....
…..and stuck it firmly into the tree trunk right between their heads.
Tim didn't smile at the men's fear, or the sweat streaming down both faces, or the relieved breaths both men drew in raggedly. Tim's heart pattered quickly against his own chest in a fear he hid, because he didn't know what had made him impale the tree instead......for a few quick moments there, he'd fully intended to strike straight into Mutt's muscular chest.
He felt sick suddenly. Keep it together, Tim, that small remaining part of his old self advised. Keep your senses about you and keep it together. You can't afford to lose it now. Tim swallowed hard and ran his forearm across his eyes, clearing the sweat away. The cuts on his swollen wrist stung from the salt in his bodily moisture. He felt as if there were two entities living in his one body, fighting for dominance of his one brain. His old self, with the common sense, self preservation and logical mind, and the new Tim that was desperation, obsession, and ruthlessness, usually acting solely on instinct with no thought of consequences. He didn't even want to think about that strange blank emotionlessness of earlier and where it might fit in.
Regaining control of himself, Tim glanced back and forth between the men held captive against the tree. “Enjoy the fresh air, gentlemen. Maybe I'll remember to make a phone call to the police, or maybe I'll forget. You'll know soon enough. I'll be kind enough to dispose of these weapons for you. If you do manage to get free, don't even think about coming after me. If I see you again, I'll kill you.” Tim didn't know if that was an idle threat or not, but it didn't matter. He just needed them to believe it wasn't.
Tim gathered the armful of weapons from the ground, juggling it all awkwardly and ignoring the men's yells that he couldn't leave them there to die. Sooner or later they'd realize he'd left the knife embedded in the tree between them. He didn't know if they'd be able to reach it, high as it was between their heads, but it would give them something to work at. Maybe he'd call the town authorities in a day or two to give him time to get ahead of them. Tempting as the thought was, he really had no intention of leaving them there to die, but they'd be fine for awhile.
Tim contemplated burying the armload of weapons, but settled for tossing it all in a nearby fast-flowing stream that sunk the heavier items and carried the rest away. He kept the one gun, though, as well as the light stash of ammo for it that Jeff had been carrying on him. He took a few minutes to clean his face and swollen, cut wrists, then belatedly wished he'd stolen one of the men's clothing before restraining them. Anything from them would be too big on him, but their clothes were in much better shape than his. He wasn't about to release one of them just to strip him, though.
Now which direction should I head? Tim wondered, rotating in a circle to take in his current surroundings. He could hear the traffic of a heavier highway to his right, so the patch of woods obviously ended not too far away. But what would be his odds when he got there? Especially when he could walk just a little longer to the car they'd left behind on the smaller back-road highway. It even had a paper bag full of snacks in it, and the thought of food- any kind- made Tim's mouth fill with saliva. And they might have clothes in the trunk, too. They'd been wearing something different each time he'd encountered them, so they had to have a stash.
Tim hadn't found the keys among the weapons when he'd searched Jeff earlier, so he knew they must have been left in the car.
The choice was made.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ziva jumped when the door slammed, then lifted her head from the seat. “How much further?” she asked, opening her eyes groggily and looking at the scenery. When she'd returned from the ladies room, she'd dozed again while Tony had busied himself with filling the gas tank, making use of the men's facilities, and paying for the gas and candy bars in the store. There was just something about long car rides that insisted on making her sleepy. She yawned a jaw-cracking yawn and looked over at Tony, who glanced at her. He looked tired and she decided that soon he was going to relinquish the driver's seat to her whether he liked it or not.
He pulled his seat belt over his chest and snapped it, then tossed her a candy bar. She caught it easily and pulled it open. She was ready for real food, but convenience-store fare would have to do for the moment. She could do with the sugar rush from the chocolate and the Mountain Dew Tony handed her to combat her sluggishness. She was Mossad; she was supposed to be ready for anything at any time. Sleepiness was no excuse.
“According to Abby, just a couple more hours. Gibbs seems to be hanging out in the same general area.”
“Perhaps he has lost McGee's trail?”
“Possibly. But it's not like him to hang around and do nothing to try to find it. More likely, he's waiting for us.”
Ziva looked up at her partner in surprise, the chocolate and caramel making a paste in her throat. “Waiting for us? He already knows we're coming?” Her words were thick through the candy.
Tony grimaced at her candy-bar etiquette. “Probably. And the longer we make him wait, the more grief he's gonna give us. But he probably is stalled on McGee's trail, too. If he had a good lead, he wouldn't hang around and wait for us. He knows we'd find him wherever he is. I'm sure Abby's informed him by now of how close we are; she can't keep a secret from him for long. Which means he needs help, or wants help.”
“Or perhaps he simply wants to get his hands on us that much sooner,” Ziva rationed. She wasn't quite as comfortable as Tony seemed to be with disregarding Gibbs' orders so blatantly- she was Mossad, and Mossad always followed orders, though she'd learned it was sometimes different in the US. And of course, it was usually best to follow Gibbs' orders, as well.
But whatever the outcome, she felt it was worth it for McGee. The investigation had come to nothing but dead ends from their end, with nothing more they could do, and both were eager to be more involved in the chase for their friend and partner. And she had to admit, Tony knew the way Gibbs mind worked better than any of them when it came to things like this, so perhaps Gibbs would not be quite as angry as she was anxiously anticipating. She couldn't help but notice, however, that the closer they got, the more Tony began to display some of his small nervous habits and tics that he denied he had. But their course was set, and there was nothing to do but follow it.
And then, before they'd even joined the investigation from this end, two miles from the gas station, they got their first big break.
“Tony, stop!” Ziva shouted, and Tony immediately slammed on the brake and navigated to the shoulder.
“What the hell, Ziva!” He didn't look at her until the car had finally slid to a gravelly stop.
She raised her eyes to his face, ignoring his scowl but raising her eyebrows at him in silent admonition.
Before Tony could respond, Ziva retrieved their case folder that had slid from the seat to the floor. She opened it up, found what she was looking for, and pushed it in front of Tony's face. She stabbed the photo with a finger.
“That,” she said simply.
They both looked at the photo for a few seconds, then looked at each other and then, as one, turned in their seats to look through the back window of the car.
Behind them sat a seemingly abandoned vehicle that matched the picture and written description of the car in their case file.
A description from a certain motel clerk in a nothing town, and a picture caught on that motel's outdoor camera.
The car assumed to belong to the two men that had been asking after McGee.
TBC
Back Chapters Page Next
Mutt's gun had only been raised for a few seconds when the change in Tim took place. Whatever it was he saw in Tim's eyes stalled his actions, stiffening his fingers from pulling the trigger. No one, not even Mutt, knew whether he really would have squeezed the trigger eventually, because he never got the chance to try.
The club-like branch was still gripped tightly, raised with Tim's hands, and at Mutt's minuscule hesitation, Tim's arms pulled back and slung the branch forward, his hands releasing it just right. The action had been robotic, an automatic instinct for survival, but when the heavy branch thudded against Mutt's chest and knocked him backward, Tim's awareness flooded through him, erasing the strange non-emotion. Tim moved.
Two quick and giant strides and a leap landed Tim atop Mutt, knocking the breath out of both of them. Mutt reacted with a jarring punch to Tim's jaw that hurt like hell, but Tim held to Mutt tightly and refused to be dislodged. Tim rode through the pain and shook his head to clear the stars. He knew he wouldn't withstand another punch from Mutt's heavy fist.
Tim pulled his arms around, still restrained, backhanded Mutt's face three times in quick succession, back and forth, from one side to the other, stopping only by force of will. Tim tried to tell himself that he'd only done it because he'd have no chance at overpowering the large man otherwise, but.....it felt good. Oh, man, did it feel good to lay into that asshole!
And it worked; for a few minutes at least, which was all Tim needed. Then he let experience take over. Mutt was stunned enough that he didn't resist, though he was still heavy. Tim lifted himself off the man's body long enough to roll him to his stomach. Then he pulled Mutt's thick arms behind him and leaned forward to rest his weight on them, just in case.
Tim heard the leaves rustling and looked over to see Jeff stumbling around on his knees. He seemed a bit confused or dazed, but he was trying to regain his feet.
“Stay where you are!” Tim ordered in his 'agent' voice, but he was ignored.
He felt around in Mutt's tight hip pocked awkwardly, finally finding what he was looking for; a handful of the same white, plastic ties that they'd restrained Tim with.
Tim used three of them on Mutt, just in case, and he wasn't gentle.
He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Jeff bearing down on him in a stumbling, plodding way. Tim rolled off Mutt quickly, grabbed up the gun that had been dropped in a two-handed grip and, on his back, pointed the gun at Jeff.
“Freeze! Don't move! I mean it!”
It took a second, but Jeff froze.
“On your knees,” Tim told him, “and put your hands on your head.”
Jeff complied, but he seemed to be coming out of the daze his semi-consciousness had put him in. His eyes were angry and his glance flicked back and forth between Tim and his partner lying restrained in the dirt.
Tim managed to stand, breathing heavily, but the gun steady in his hand. At his feet, Mutt groaned, rolled to his back, and sat up. Without looking down at him, Tim put a foot against Mutt's chest and shoved the man back down.
“Not yet, you don't,” Tim said. “You move before I tell you too, I'll put a bullet in you.” Tim had no doubt in himself that he would do it without hesitation, and he could see that Mutt heard the new steel in Tim's voice.
Mutt stayed put and said nothing, staring daggers at Tim and wiping the blood from his nose onto his shoulder. One of his eyes was already swelling shut and his jaw was bruised, and Tim marveled that it was his own handiwork. He'd never taken pleasure in the pain of someone else before now, and he hoped he never did again .
Tim backed away from the man's reach in case he got any ideas. His own jaw was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he didn't want another go round. Besides, he had another matter to take care of- Mutt's better half, so to speak.
Tim took two steps toward Jeff, training the gun point blank. He wanted Jeff to know he wasn't kidding.
“Use your left hand, reach into you jacket, and pull that knife out with your finger tips.” Tim had noticed the large knife clipped to Jeff's belt, and he didn't want to try restraining the man with his own wrists tied together. When Jeff held the knife dangling, Tim said, “Now toss it this way, and don't get any ideas. Nice and slow or I shoot.” Tim had no idea of Jeff's abilities with the hunting knife, but he'd seen Ziva use knives as throwing weapons, and he wasn't going to take the chance that Jeff had similar skill. He knew that if Jeff really did have such abilities, Tim could be dead before he knew the knife had left Jeff's hand, but he figured that if the other man knew Tim was careful and watching for something like that, it would be preemptive.
The knife landed with a thud at Tim's feet, and he quickly freed his hands. It felt good to be able to move his arms and wrists again. He felt pain in his wrists, but he knew better than to take his eyes off of Jeff. He'd worry about first aid later.
He approached Jeff slowly and went around behind him, as he would any perp, and warned him again not to move. To make sure Jeff knew he meant business, he pressed the muzzle of the gun against the back of Jeff's dark head while he used his other hand to pull Jeff right hand off his head and behind his back. He followed suit with the other and secured Jeff's wrists tightly in the same manner he had Mutt's.
Both men securely restrained, Tim stepped back. “On your feet. Both of you,” he ordered. He kept the gun trained in their general direction as both men grunted and stumbled to their feet. Not so fun, is it? Tim asked them silently, but he kept the words to himself. He had no time for pettiness.
“Over there,” he waved the gun at the tree he'd hidden behind. It's narrower, split trunk would be just the right size for what he needed.
Both men obeyed and watched Tim warily as he approached. Jeff, the smarter of the two in Tim's estimation, tried to follow Tim with his eyes as Tim went around behind the men and the tree. “Eyes front!” Tim snapped. He was being as careful and cautious as he could- it wouldn't do to let either of them regain the upper hand or escape- but it was taking longer than he wanted, and his exhaustion and various aches were making him impatient.
Reaching through the wide gaps between the tree tree trunk, Tim pulled each man backward one at a time and used the remaining plastic ties to secure their hands to the tree. Once both men were effectively immobilized and secure, Tim let himself relax a little, but when the exhaustion filled the space of the diminishing adrenaline, he wondered if relaxing now was a mistake.
Tim walked around to the front to face the men and tucked the gun into his waistband. His pants were looser than they had been five days ago and the gun almost slid out, but he managed to find just the right spot to hold it. Despite everything, he'd have been humiliated if his coolness level, as Tony might have termed it, had been diminished by his gun sliding down the leg of his pants. He had to shake away the picture in his mind of him trying to fish it out while the two idiots snickered and laughed.
Tim warned both men to keep still- their feet were still free, after all- and he frisked each one. He removed several hidden weapons from each of them, from their ankles to their collars, a little chagrined that he hadn't done so before coming close enough to restrain them. Being alone, though, and without backup, he knew he'd done things just right to ensure his safety. It wasn't exactly his first apprehension.
Then he wondered why he was still thinking of this as a routine arrest, when it was anything but.
Tim tossed each weapon he found into the growing pile, amazed they'd had room on their bodies for the hardware of knives and small guns. Even a couple pairs of brass knuckles. He didn't let himself think about what they'd probably angrily imagined doing to him with each item once they'd caught him again, and he couldn't imagine why they'd played cat and mouse for so long when they could have easily gotten the upper hand during any one of their previous encounters by simply pulling a weapon. He even found a couple of things that he wasn't sure what they were, but were no doubt exotic torture devices that originated in other countries, as well as practical items like lock picks. He'd never thought either of the two men were new to the lifestyle of violence and pain, and it was easy to imagine both of them as the distributors, but Tim suddenly realized how lucky he was that they'd felt compelled to hold back with him. Then he wondered why they were compelled to hold back with him. Orders from their boss, maybe? But why? He'd have to mull that over later, when he had the time and energy, and could think a little straighter.
After all the ominous weapons he pulled from each of them, he looked at the can of pepper spray incongruously. “Pepper spray?” he asked Mutt with raised eyebrows. “Really?” He tossed the small can on top of the small pile of other weapons in the dirt. Mutt looked a little embarrassed that such an item had been pulled from his pocket, but he didn't comment Tim's sarcasm. Once Tim was certain both men were stripped of the tools of their trade- unless they'd made use of bodily crevasses, of which Tim had no intention of searching- he looked down at the pile and shook his head, wondering why they thought they'd ever need so many weapons at one time. Surely it wasn't all for him.
Tim bent down and retrieved from the pile his own knife that had last been seen sticking out of Jeff's shoulder.
“I appreciate you holding on to this for me,” Tim quipped, wiping it clean of Jeff's blood on the leg of his pants. They were already filthy, anyway. Tim walked several feet away and, under the curious eyes of his captives, sank to the ground wearily and let his weight rest against the tree behind him. He just suddenly needed to rest for a few minutes. He was so tired.
Tim absently wiped the blade against the grass, cleaning it further. He had made the comment to Jeff sarcastically, but he truly would have mourned the loss of the knife. He let his eyes slide closed and let his head fall against the tree as he remembered when Gibbs had given it to him.
During what had been a routine interview, Tim had had a problem with a suspect and had lost his side arm. It had all turned out okay, but later, Gibbs had reiterated his rule about always carrying a spare gun and always carrying a hidden blade or knife. Tim had taken Gibbs 'advice' about the spare gun from day one; it made sense to have a backup. But Tim had never been a knife person and the whole idea had made him uncomfortable enough that he'd blown off the 'rule', though he'd heard it many times. He knew Tony carried one. He didn't know about Kate, whether she'd had one or not, but she hadn't seemed to be a knife person, either. On the other hand, she had been a smart person, and smart people followed Gibbs' advice, especially if you were one of his agents, so what did he know? And now, of course, Ziva; her having one or more at all times pretty much went without saying, and Tim didn't think she was doing it on Gibbs' advice. He thought even Abby might have one.
Well, he'd mentioned to Gibbs that day his reluctance to carry a knife and had commented that he knew nothing about them anyway and wouldn't know how to go about finding a suitable one. The next evening, when the rest of the team had left for the day, Gibbs had held Tim back and had unceremoniously presented him with a nice looking but functional weapon of his own choosing, complete with a beautiful leather ankle sheath. He'd even shown Tim how to strap it on correctly and how to get a feel for it in his hand, and had taken the time to make sure it fit Tim's grip just right. Gibbs had guessed at what would fit Tim best when he'd picked the weapon out, and he'd chosen just right. Gibbs knew his weapons.
Tim had thanked Gibbs, touched that his boss would think of him enough for that. He hadn't been on the team long at that point and was still feeling his way and trying to fit in. When Tim had gotten home a little later, Tony had been waiting in his apartment- the first time he'd ever picked the lock. He'd somehow known about Gibbs' gift to Tim and he'd brought a weapon catalog for Tim to look through, stating correctly that he knew there wouldn't be such a magazine hanging around his apartment. When Tim asked why, Tony had stated that his own first knife had been a gift from Gibbs, as well, but he'd come close to losing it several times during hairy moments. And since he'd never want to lose the first thing Gibbs had ever given him, he'd put the gift away as a spare and ordered another one for everyday use.
Tim had thought that a great idea, but had never gotten around to doing it. Now he thought that might be something to take care of later. If there was a later. The way things were going, he wasn't so sure.
He no longer had long-term goals for anything, because he didn't know what was going to happen from one minute to the next. His only overall goal was getting Sarah away from her kidnappers, whatever that entailed. Tim knew it certainly meant his job, probably some jail time for some of the things he'd done- or might do. And depending on how things turned out and exactly who he was dealing with, maybe even his life.
Tim had started this desperate jaunt with the idea that he'd get his sister back and have them both safely home, both of them relieved and barely the worse for wear with an interesting story to tell others. That wasn't to say that he hadn't been worried, starting out. He'd completely understood the seriousness of the situation, the danger to both of them, and the dire possibilities. His goal had been to get them both home well and safe, and if possible, without anyone being the wiser until after the fact. But five days ago, his mind and body had been fresh and, though desperate to find Sara and afraid for her, he'd been able to force optimism and keep things in perspective. But now, he was worn out both physically and mentally, it had been over two days since he'd eaten or gotten any real rest, Gibbs -and maybe others- was on his trail, he'd had Mutt and Jeff to deal with, and his desperation had become an obsession. So much so that he couldn't plan for 'after rescuing Sara', because in his new state of mind, that was all there was. And if it meant doing terrible things, or giving up his life or his future, then that was simply the price to pay for Sara's freedom and her life.
And the small part of Tim's mind that realized he was changing became afraid, that last piece of common sense that was holding on tried to tell Tim to hold on to 'himself' as long as he could or he would be lost in a way that was much worse than prison, maybe even worse than death. If he lost that piece of himself, he'd never find his way back.
Tim pulled himself from his thoughts with effort and opened his tired, gritty eyes, staring up into the branches of the tree. It was hard to tell through the summer leaves, but he thought it would be getting dark in a few short hours. In that time, he had to get out of the woods, find transportation and get back on the right track to find Sara's trail. It would be harder after dark.
He reached down and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He was worried that his only lifeline to Sara had been smashed in his scuffle with Mutt. He read the last text again.
“Harlan, Kentucky,” he mused aloud. He wondered what was in Harlan, why they were taking Sara out of Virginia. Why are they even running to begin with? He wondered. They'd left instructions for me to meet them in the first place. Why would they take off and make me track them for days? Is it all some sick mind game? If so, I'm tired of playing. I'm ready to end it.
“You said that was your watch,” Tim heard, and he looked up to meet Mutt's accusing gaze. Tim shook his head incredulously and saw the realization dawning on Jeff's face that the phone was the 'watch' he'd heard chiming in the car. As if they had any right to feel scandalized.
“What can I say? I lied,” Tim retorted, repeating Mutt's words from the car. Mutt's face turned thunderous, growing angrier at his inability to take his anger out on it's source; namely, Tim.
Tim pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore how hard it was, sheathed his knife at his ankle, and approached the captive men. He looked at them with his head cocked to the side, pretending deep thought.
“Now what am I gonna do with the two of you? I don't think I'm up to extra baggage. I'm in a bit of a hurry, you know.”
Jeff's eyes narrowed. “You can't just leave us out here, tied like this.”
“Why not? You'd just slow me down.”
“You're a federal agent. You can't knowingly leave us to die.”
“Federal agent?” Tim asked. “I was. I don't think I am anymore. I'm sure the two of you had plans for me. Why don't you give me some ideas of what to do with you? Fork over some of those gruesome daydreams buried in your warped minds. You don't carry around weapons like this unless you know how to use them.” Tim gave a punctuating kick to the pile of weaponry on the ground, then reached down and picked up a large serrated hunting knife. He slapped the flat of the blade against his palm absently as he talked.
“Torture?” he guessed. “That sounds like something you two might do. You'd enjoy it too, wouldn't you? Especially you,” he said, pointing the knife at Mutt. “If it's any consolation, I appreciate that you held back until I could get away. I'm not a big fan of pain. I'll take that into account when I decide what to do with you. I won't even hold the concussion against you, Leslie, or my jaw, which might be fractured, the way it feels.” Tim paused and looked up at the two men, gratified to see dawning fear in both their eyes.
“'I'm just a regular guy, Jeff,” Tim said. He felt like he was watching a one man show, a play put on by himself and from a distance. Like he was watching a completely different and unknown person. “Maybe I was a federal agent, but now...... now I can do whatever I want.”
“My name's not Jeff,” the dark haired man croaked out.
Tim smiled. He didn't know what kind of a smile it was, but it made both men's eyes widen. “You'll always be Jeff to me.....Jeff.” Tim held up the large knife for both of them to see. “This one here is interesting. What were you gonna do with this one? You know, I saw one like this in a magazine a friend of mine gave me once. I'm not really one for large knives......don't they say the bigger the knife, the more you're compensating for something else? No? Well, maybe not, I've probably mixed my metaphors. I like the outdoors, but I've never cared for hunting. But I know a hunting knife when I see it. This one is used for gutting and skinning. Is that what you were gonna use it for? I just don't see you two as hunters. Not for animals, anyway. What else have you hunted for, guys? Huh?”
“Nothing,” Mutt sputtered, clearly terrified now. “Nothing. We don't hunt nothing! We weren't really gonna hurt you, we just had orders to bring you to our boss.”
Tim settled a Gibbs- worthy stare on Mutt's face and stepped forward until he was inches away from the other man's face. Mutt's breathing was fast and panicky and he blew his foul breath into Tim's face on each exhale, but Tim ignored it. He raised the large knife and trailed the tip of it lightly down the side of Mutt's cheek, from temple to chin, and underneath his throat. Mutt's eyes clenched shut in fear.
“Who? Who's your boss and why does he want me?” Tim asked softly.
“I don't know, I swear to God, I don't know.....” Mutt was sweating now, and shaking a little, and he'd lost his sarcastic, superior attitude. “......we're not given the details, we're given orders. We just follow them and get paid. That's it, I swear.”
Tim looked over to Jeff, who was watching avidly, and the other man nodded vigorously when he noticed Tim's attention focused on him.
“Do you think I'm stupid?” Tim asked, his tone growing fierce and angry. “Or maybe you're stupider than I thought. I know a lie when I hear it.” And it was true; Tim somehow knew, without a doubt, that even as scared as he was, Mutt was lying. At least about some of it. It was highly probable that the hired muscle didn't know why their boss wanted Tim, but nobody was ignorant about who signed their paychecks.
And that fact bothered Tim more than he'd like to admit. As terrified of Tim as Mutt was, both men were still either too loyal to their boss to give him up or more afraid of him than they were of Tim's immediate threat, and neither of them struck Tim as being the loyal type. Just who was their boss? What kind of person was he dealing with?
Tim hoped he wasn't making a mistake, but he felt the now familiar desperation settle in once more; every moment he wasn't on the move, Sara was getting farther away. He'd have to worry about who these jackasses worked for later. For now, he had more pressing matters.
He stepped back from Mutt and took a deep breath of pure air, free from Mutt's putrid breath. He tapped the knife against against his palm again.
“As much as I'd like to drag it out of you, I have somewhere else to be. I can't waste my time with you two.”
Tim raised the knife high over his head and, ignoring both men's frightened shouts, brought the knife down toward his target.....
…..and stuck it firmly into the tree trunk right between their heads.
Tim didn't smile at the men's fear, or the sweat streaming down both faces, or the relieved breaths both men drew in raggedly. Tim's heart pattered quickly against his own chest in a fear he hid, because he didn't know what had made him impale the tree instead......for a few quick moments there, he'd fully intended to strike straight into Mutt's muscular chest.
He felt sick suddenly. Keep it together, Tim, that small remaining part of his old self advised. Keep your senses about you and keep it together. You can't afford to lose it now. Tim swallowed hard and ran his forearm across his eyes, clearing the sweat away. The cuts on his swollen wrist stung from the salt in his bodily moisture. He felt as if there were two entities living in his one body, fighting for dominance of his one brain. His old self, with the common sense, self preservation and logical mind, and the new Tim that was desperation, obsession, and ruthlessness, usually acting solely on instinct with no thought of consequences. He didn't even want to think about that strange blank emotionlessness of earlier and where it might fit in.
Regaining control of himself, Tim glanced back and forth between the men held captive against the tree. “Enjoy the fresh air, gentlemen. Maybe I'll remember to make a phone call to the police, or maybe I'll forget. You'll know soon enough. I'll be kind enough to dispose of these weapons for you. If you do manage to get free, don't even think about coming after me. If I see you again, I'll kill you.” Tim didn't know if that was an idle threat or not, but it didn't matter. He just needed them to believe it wasn't.
Tim gathered the armful of weapons from the ground, juggling it all awkwardly and ignoring the men's yells that he couldn't leave them there to die. Sooner or later they'd realize he'd left the knife embedded in the tree between them. He didn't know if they'd be able to reach it, high as it was between their heads, but it would give them something to work at. Maybe he'd call the town authorities in a day or two to give him time to get ahead of them. Tempting as the thought was, he really had no intention of leaving them there to die, but they'd be fine for awhile.
Tim contemplated burying the armload of weapons, but settled for tossing it all in a nearby fast-flowing stream that sunk the heavier items and carried the rest away. He kept the one gun, though, as well as the light stash of ammo for it that Jeff had been carrying on him. He took a few minutes to clean his face and swollen, cut wrists, then belatedly wished he'd stolen one of the men's clothing before restraining them. Anything from them would be too big on him, but their clothes were in much better shape than his. He wasn't about to release one of them just to strip him, though.
Now which direction should I head? Tim wondered, rotating in a circle to take in his current surroundings. He could hear the traffic of a heavier highway to his right, so the patch of woods obviously ended not too far away. But what would be his odds when he got there? Especially when he could walk just a little longer to the car they'd left behind on the smaller back-road highway. It even had a paper bag full of snacks in it, and the thought of food- any kind- made Tim's mouth fill with saliva. And they might have clothes in the trunk, too. They'd been wearing something different each time he'd encountered them, so they had to have a stash.
Tim hadn't found the keys among the weapons when he'd searched Jeff earlier, so he knew they must have been left in the car.
The choice was made.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ziva jumped when the door slammed, then lifted her head from the seat. “How much further?” she asked, opening her eyes groggily and looking at the scenery. When she'd returned from the ladies room, she'd dozed again while Tony had busied himself with filling the gas tank, making use of the men's facilities, and paying for the gas and candy bars in the store. There was just something about long car rides that insisted on making her sleepy. She yawned a jaw-cracking yawn and looked over at Tony, who glanced at her. He looked tired and she decided that soon he was going to relinquish the driver's seat to her whether he liked it or not.
He pulled his seat belt over his chest and snapped it, then tossed her a candy bar. She caught it easily and pulled it open. She was ready for real food, but convenience-store fare would have to do for the moment. She could do with the sugar rush from the chocolate and the Mountain Dew Tony handed her to combat her sluggishness. She was Mossad; she was supposed to be ready for anything at any time. Sleepiness was no excuse.
“According to Abby, just a couple more hours. Gibbs seems to be hanging out in the same general area.”
“Perhaps he has lost McGee's trail?”
“Possibly. But it's not like him to hang around and do nothing to try to find it. More likely, he's waiting for us.”
Ziva looked up at her partner in surprise, the chocolate and caramel making a paste in her throat. “Waiting for us? He already knows we're coming?” Her words were thick through the candy.
Tony grimaced at her candy-bar etiquette. “Probably. And the longer we make him wait, the more grief he's gonna give us. But he probably is stalled on McGee's trail, too. If he had a good lead, he wouldn't hang around and wait for us. He knows we'd find him wherever he is. I'm sure Abby's informed him by now of how close we are; she can't keep a secret from him for long. Which means he needs help, or wants help.”
“Or perhaps he simply wants to get his hands on us that much sooner,” Ziva rationed. She wasn't quite as comfortable as Tony seemed to be with disregarding Gibbs' orders so blatantly- she was Mossad, and Mossad always followed orders, though she'd learned it was sometimes different in the US. And of course, it was usually best to follow Gibbs' orders, as well.
But whatever the outcome, she felt it was worth it for McGee. The investigation had come to nothing but dead ends from their end, with nothing more they could do, and both were eager to be more involved in the chase for their friend and partner. And she had to admit, Tony knew the way Gibbs mind worked better than any of them when it came to things like this, so perhaps Gibbs would not be quite as angry as she was anxiously anticipating. She couldn't help but notice, however, that the closer they got, the more Tony began to display some of his small nervous habits and tics that he denied he had. But their course was set, and there was nothing to do but follow it.
And then, before they'd even joined the investigation from this end, two miles from the gas station, they got their first big break.
“Tony, stop!” Ziva shouted, and Tony immediately slammed on the brake and navigated to the shoulder.
“What the hell, Ziva!” He didn't look at her until the car had finally slid to a gravelly stop.
She raised her eyes to his face, ignoring his scowl but raising her eyebrows at him in silent admonition.
Before Tony could respond, Ziva retrieved their case folder that had slid from the seat to the floor. She opened it up, found what she was looking for, and pushed it in front of Tony's face. She stabbed the photo with a finger.
“That,” she said simply.
They both looked at the photo for a few seconds, then looked at each other and then, as one, turned in their seats to look through the back window of the car.
Behind them sat a seemingly abandoned vehicle that matched the picture and written description of the car in their case file.
A description from a certain motel clerk in a nothing town, and a picture caught on that motel's outdoor camera.
The car assumed to belong to the two men that had been asking after McGee.
TBC
Back Chapters Page Next