Chapter fourteen

Returning to work at six fifteen the next morning, Gibbs felt better rested than he had in a while. He wondered if falling asleep with the real, solid Tony would have the same calming effect on him that falling asleep with the ghost had. Then again, if he had the real Tony, alive and healthy in his bed, then there might not have been all that much sleeping involved.

He was surprised to find Ziva by her desk already, working so diligently that she barely raised her gaze to look at Gibbs and greet him.

McGee and Abby arrived mere minutes after Gibbs, together. Abby didn’t come by the bullpen but Tony told Gibbs after doing his regular tours around the team.

“Ducky’s on his way in too,” Tony said and then he grinned, “And Palmer overslept but is in a hurry to get here.”

Gibbs wondered why it didn’t feel odd between them. Tony didn’t appear to mind Gibbs’ breakdown the night before at all, nor did he make any passes at Gibbs. It felt strangely normal.

Gibbs turned to McGee.

“Did you get anything at Doherty’s parents yesterday?” Gibbs asked.

“Ask Ziva,” McGee said. “She thought she did.”

“Ziva?” Gibbs asked.

“Yes,” Ziva said. “One minute, and I will tell you.”

“McGee,” Gibbs said. “Coffee.”

He had already downed one cup and now needed a new one. McGee left the bullpen to get some.

Tony shook his head. “You shouldn’t drink so much caffeine, boss. ‘s not good for you.”

Gibbs sent him a brief glare, one that wasn’t suspicious because Gibbs did occasionally send angry glares at the world in general.

“There!” Ziva said, hitting a final key on her keyboard.

A driver’s license came up, with a photo of a familiar man with an unfamiliar name looking back at them. James Doherty had created himself a fake identity.

“Good job,” Gibbs said.

McGee returned, carrying three cups of coffee. His mouth dropped open upon seeing what was on the plasma.

“How?”

“I saw a letter when I snooped around yesterday,” Ziva said.

“When did you—” McGee started, frowning, but then he realized. “You went to the bathroom.”

“I said I went to the bathroom,” Ziva said, smirking. “I took a look around instead. On the nightstand in the bedroom, I found a letter addressed to Mrs. Doherty, and the sender was a Mr. Theodore Cault. It seemed odd for a wife to keep the letter from another man on her nightstand, but also, the name is—”

“An English version of the name of the artist of the Medusa,” McGee said, eyes widening.

“Yes,” Ziva said. “So I ran the name through the database and I came up with this.”

“McGee, find me everything on him,” Gibbs said. “I want to know every part of his fake ID and most importantly—”

“An address,” McGee said. “On it, boss.”

Gibbs glanced to his side, finding Tony staring at the picture. He realized that Tony hadn’t yet seen the picture of the suspect; he’d been gone for the parts of the previous day when they’d found out about James Doherty.

Grabbing a pen and a paper, he wrote, ‘look familiar?’

Tony didn’t notice his writing at first, as he held it as inconspicuously as possible for Tony to see. Instead, his gaze was glued to the photo on the screen. There were emotions flitting across his face but they were too fast, too small, for Gibbs to be able to identify.

“I’ve seen him,” Tony said, brow creasing into a frown. “It’s right there at the edge of my memory – but I can’t get it—but I know I’ve seen him.”

Gibbs fought two widely different urges – one, to snap at Tony and order him to remember, and two, to reach out and lay a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder. He could do neither in the middle of the bullpen.

“Theodore Cault works at Bethesda,” McGee said. “He’s a janitor. He’s been working there the last five months.”

“Lieutenant Johnson worked at Bethesda,” Ziva said.

“And Tony disappeared when he was coming back from interviewing—”

They had checked hospital employees several weeks earlier. With the drug overdoses, it seemed likely that the person worked at a hospital, but too many people worked at the hospitals nearby, and the search had turned up nothing.

Gibbs could feel his heart speeding up at the thought of finally getting to the bastard.

“Address?” Gibbs asked, a rush of adrenaline pumping through him.

“Coming up,” McGee said. He hit another few keys, and on the screen, the address popped up. “It’s an old house in Somerset, boss. Doherty is renting it.”

“Gear, now,” Gibbs said. “McGee, get the car. Ziva, tell the Director what’s going on.”

“Boss—we don’t have any cause to enter the house,” McGee said.

“We’re just going there to talk to him,” Gibbs snapped.

“We are?” McGee asked.

“Yeah, McGee,” Gibbs said. “We are.”

He grabbed his own gun and holstered it.

McGee swallowed visibly, obviously understanding Gibbs’ version of ‘talking’ to Doherty.

His gun felt as though it was burning against his side, whispering to him – God, Gibbs wanted to put a bullet through the asshole’s knees, wanted to bring him pain like what he’d brought Gibbs.

And while his body filled with adrenaline, his heart filled with dread of what they were going to find upon getting there. What horrors would they get to see? What had the bastard put Tony through? Was Tony alive at all?

He saw Tony standing in front of the screen, still staring at Doherty. He looked pale, even for his ghostly form. Gibbs couldn’t speak to him and even if he could he had no idea of what to say.

He headed towards the elevator, McGee already out of there to bring the car out front. Ziva hung up and hurried after Gibbs, getting into the elevator just before the doors closed. Her face was set in a concentrated scowl and Gibbs felt the same combination of adrenaline, fury and fear emanating from her. He saw her hand go to her gun, ghosting over it to make sure it was there. None of them said a word.

McGee had already seated himself in the back of the car when Gibbs and Ziva came out. Unlike Ziva, he didn’t look angry – he looked pale and drawn and deeply focused on the task at hand, but he had never been the killing machine Gibbs and Ziva were. Still, Gibbs knew that he could trust McGee.

“Boss,” McGee said, voice barely holding. “I just got a call from the grocery store nearest the house. They said there’s a man who looks like the BOLO photo that comes in like clockwork once a week with his Doberman.”

The tires screeched as Gibbs hit the gas. McGee stopped talking to grab hold of the ceiling handle, his face white. Gibbs’ heart pounded loudly in his ears, adrenaline making his heart rush.

The streets flashed past them.

He came to a stop only once they were in front of Doherty’s house. Gibbs parked with no finesse, and stepped out of the car, his heart beating a hole through his chest. He forced himself to take a deep breath to calm himself, even though he usually never had to do such a thing.

But this wasn’t their usual case.

“There you are,” said Tony, appearing next to him. “This it?”

They both looked up at the house. It looked, like McGee had said, old – the fence was in need of a new layer of paint and the house itself looked worn. The yard was far from as well-kept as the surrounding ones.

Gibbs gave Tony a hardly perceptible nod.

“McGee, in the back,” he said. “Be ready to call in backup.”

McGee nodded, though Gibbs caught the look in his eyes – the one that said, ‘yeah, we’re just here to talk’.

“Ziva, with me,” Gibbs said, though it wasn’t necessary. Ziva was walking up just behind him, one hand on her gun.

“I’ve been here before,” Tony said. “It was dark when I got here the last time, but I was here. It feels like—like a dream.”

“Go to McGee,” Gibbs ordered, unable to concentrate with Tony next to him.

“I thought you said—” started Ziva, and Gibbs cursed under his breath.

“Not you,” Gibbs snapped.

“Then who—”

Gibbs gave her a look. He knew it wouldn’t keep her from asking questions – he just hoped that it was enough to keep her from asking them right now. They didn’t have time; they had other things that were far more important, far more pressing.

He knocked on the door, three quick taps.

There was no answer, and he knocked again.

“Mr. Doherty,” he said. “NCIS. We’d like to talk to you.”

There was a sudden sound from inside, sharp and unmistakable – a gunshot, ringing loud and clear.

It shocked Gibbs into action, as a million pictures of what had just happened inside the house flashed before his eyes – Tony, broken, bleeding, shot, dead—

He kicked in the door, briefly glad the house was old because the door gave way immediately.

Ziva was behind him, clearing the areas with him. McGee came in right in front of them, through the back-porch and he was sweaty, hands shaking with the kick of adrenaline. They went through each of the rooms, securing them as they found them empty. The house was clean, not just in a vacuumed and neat way but sterilized, not a single thing out of place. It didn’t look like anyone had lived in there at all.

“Clear,” McGee said, voice almost steady.

“Basement,” Gibbs said.

There was a smell that started just outside the kitchen. It grew steadily worse as they entered the kitchen and found the stairs down to the basement through a door. It wasn’t an unfamiliar smell – rather, it was an all too familiar one.

Death.

“Boss, you need to get down there. He’s built the raft—”

Tony appeared before him and he looked paler than usual. He looked as though he was going to be sick any moment.

They descended the stairs, guns drawn. The stench of decay was heavy, even in the cold, dark basement. The stairs creaked beneath their feet as they descended.

Suddenly, the door behind them slammed shut loudly. Gibbs heard it click as it locked. He swore, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Everything around them was pitch black, so dark he couldn’t even see his hand as he held it up before his eyes. Taking a step forward, onto the floor, Gibbs nearly stumbled over something hard and wooden.

Then, just as abruptly, lights came on. Strong, blinding lights that had Gibbs’ eyes tearing up and made him squeeze them shut, even though he knew the danger in doing so. Slowly, he opened them, squinting against the bright light. They came from every corner of the room, and all were pointed at them, at the space where he, McGee and Ziva were standing. It was a large space, with a structure built on the ground – the bit Gibbs had stumbled on was the corner of a bigger, wooden deck of some kind.

“What the—”

“Boss, this—it’s the raft,” McGee said. “It’s a live version of it.”

They slowly stepped further onto the floor, guns drawn and ready. The place was eerily silent.

Then a shot rang out and McGee cried out in pain. He staggered back, dropping his gun loudly on the floor before falling himself. His hands went instinctively to his side, where blood already started soaking through his shirt.

“McGee!” said Ziva.

“Get back,” Gibbs snapped. He looked around, for any kind of cover, but couldn’t see anything. They were in the bull’s eye, with bright light on all sides, except for the stairs – but those led only to a locked door. Still, getting up there would give him a greater view point—

“Stop right there.”

The unfamiliar voice was shaking, unpleasant – Gibbs hated it without hesitation. He leveled his gun in the direction of the sound. He tried his best to ignore McGee’s hitched breathing, mewling sounds of pain escaping him. Ziva had dropped to McGee’s side, and was pressing her hands against his side.

“NCIS,” said the voice.

“Show yourself,” Ziva said angrily.

“You already know what I look like, if you’ve gotten this far,” the voice said.

“James Doherty,” Gibbs said, with barely controlled rage. He wanted to shoot but he couldn’t, not without knowing where the target was or what it was doing. For all Gibbs knew, Doherty was using Tony as a shield. For all he knew, the voice was computer animated and Doherty wasn’t standing where they thought he was. From the angle McGee had been shot, Gibbs could assume where he would have had to be a few moments ago but he could have – should have if he was smart – moved since.

“I don’t go by that name anymore,” Doherty said. “I’m Theodore. Theodore Cault. Mother understood when I changed my name. Said she knew all along that I wasn’t a regular James. She said that Father wanted that name for me, not her.”

He was moving around, shuffling this way and that in the darkness. Gibbs followed the sound of the voice with his gun, all the while squinting at the darkness. He needed to see beyond the bright lights, had to but couldn’t because if he moved, if any of them moved, Doherty was more than likely to shoot again. They had nothing, no way to—

Except, they did.

He had an agent who could move without being seen.

He didn’t have a way to communicate with Tony without alerting the others – but he found it impossible to care. Ziva had already seen him, albeit when she was dizzy from her concussion and McGee would simply have to question Gibbs’ sanity later. For there to be a later for McGee – because a gunshot wound to the stomach ran a high risk of being fatal if it stayed untreated – Gibbs would have to do it.

“Tony, what’s going on?”

He could feel Ziva’s and McGee’s gazes on him, questioning, wondering if he’d finally cracked.

“You’re talking to me?” Tony asked. “In front of them? Cool. I think.”

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs snapped.

Tony didn’t say anything; he merely moved quickly beyond the lights.

“Don’t come any closer,” Doherty said. “I have someone here that you probably don’t want hurt any further.”

“Tony,” Ziva breathed.

McGee’s gaze shifted from the darkness to Gibbs and back again. “Boss—what’s—”

“Not now,” Gibbs snapped.

Tony was very pale when he returned. Gibbs frowned, wondering if it was the bright lights of the basement that led to that effect, or if it was something else.

“He’s got me,” Tony said. “Your two o’clock. Gun to my head. I’m not conscious. Boss, I think I might be—”

“No,” Gibbs snapped.

“No, what, boss?” McGee asked, between pained breaths of air. Gibbs saw the sweat on McGee’s forehead, his face pale, and he knew they were running out of time. McGee was going into shock.

“What do you want?” Gibbs asked instead, louder, directing the question to Doherty.

“To finish my piece,” Doherty said. “You’ll be in it, you’ll fit right in, Gunnery Sergeant. You know, I looked you up after you were on TV. You and your team. Agent DiNozzo isn’t a sailor but I figured he’d fit in—he’s handsome, isn’t he? When I saw him on the news I just knew I had to have him in my picture.”

Gibbs wanted to take some solace in that Doherty was still talking about Tony in a present tense, but he couldn’t. Doherty was obviously mad, and could be saying anything.

His heart pounded loudly.

“Backup—on its way,” McGee said, breathing harsh.

Gibbs nodded and spoke to Doherty. They needed to get this over with. “Let him go. Let Agent DiNozzo go and I might let you live.”

“We all have guns, Gunnery Sergeant,” Doherty said. “Who says I won’t shoot you first? I know where all three of you are and one of you is already wounded. You just have my voice to follow.”

“Two o’clock, boss,” Tony said. “Just beyond the lights.”

“Can’t shoot you,” Gibbs said, quieter.

“Better me than all of you,” Tony said.

“No,” Gibbs snapped.

“Gibbs?” asked Ziva.

“My two o’clock,” Gibbs said.

She didn’t ask how he knew and he was glad. She would later, of that he had no doubt, but for now she trusted him. She moved to go closer to Doherty.

“I said don’t come any closer,” Doherty said, a hint of hysterics coloring his voice. “I will shoot. I’ll start with your agent here.”

Ziva stopped.

“Get him to let go of you, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said.

“How?” Tony asked. “I’m incorporeal. And my body obviously isn’t of much use.” Gibbs glared at him. “I’ll figure it out. Right. I can touch you and Abby, so why not the madman who’s the reason for all this to begin with.”

He faded into the darkness beyond the lights, out of Gibbs’ view, but Gibbs could still hear him muttering. It was a good sound to listen to, instead of Doherty’s ramblings.

“Okay, boss, here goes nothing,” Tony said. “I’ll just try to—I don’t know. Go through him and do something on the way, I guess.”

Gibbs didn’t answer, and he hoped Tony took the silence for the affirmative it was.

“On three,” Tony said. “One—two—three.”

A second passed, long and dragged out, an eternity of heartbeats and harsh breaths. Then a scream pierced the air, a horrid sound, and the thump of something heavy hitting the ground.

Gibbs ran.

His heart pounded loudly in his ears, his entire body focused on only one thing – getting to Doherty, killing him before he could kill anyone else.

Doherty stumbled back and Gibbs could barely see because the light had been so bright and now the dim illumination was near complete darkness to him. But he could make out the outline of Doherty, leaning against the wall, regaining momentum. He looked up and their gazes met for just a second, Doherty raising his gun and then Gibbs fired, once, twice.

Doherty stared at him as though he couldn’t quite believe it. He staggered, blood already pouring from the chest wound, one step, two steps, a gurgling sound coming from him. Another step and then his legs gave out and Doherty crashed to the ground, breaths coming irregularly at painful intervals. Gibbs kept his gun leveled on Doherty as flowing blood formed a pool. Doherty drew a few more breaths, eyes on Gibbs, still looking surprised and hateful even as death claimed him.

Just like that it was over. Just like that, Doherty was dead.

Tony’s voice floated through the darkness. “Boss.”

It woke Gibbs, and he stood up straight, letting the gun fall to his side.

“David, get the paramedics down here,” he said. “McGee?”

“F-fine, boss,” McGee said, but his voice was too soft and weak for Gibbs’ liking.

He saw Ziva go – reluctantly letting go of McGee. Her hands were bloody. From his viewpoint beyond the lights, Gibbs could see just fine into the space where they had been standing.

“Over here, boss,” Tony said, sounding choked.

Gibbs looked over and saw Tony standing by a body. Gibbs stalked over, and fell to the ground. Dark blond hair, pale skin—

Tony.

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