Less than 36 hours after they had confirmation that Tony was still alive, Special Agent Gibbs and Officer David were meeting with Joe Tabaraz and Special Agent McGee. A map was spread out on a table and the four were bent over it, discussing their plans to rescue one of their own.
"We can get you close to the location you say their camp is at, but not too close, or we'll spook them. You'll have to hike the rest of the way." Tabaraz's tone was apologetic.
"Not a problem," replied Ziva.
"We'll be fine. We need to time our arrival at the camp for nighttime," Gibbs said. "It'll be easier to surprise them, grab Tony and get him out of there."
Ziva looked concerned. "We may have to carry him; at the very least we'll have to support him."
"We'll manage," Gibbs replied grimly.
"What do you want me to do, Boss?" McGee asked, looking expectant.
"I'll need you at the drop-off point with a radio, monitoring any channels the guerrillas may be using and keeping in contact with us. What?" he demanded, noting McGee's disappointed expression.
"Is there a way I can monitor communications and help in the actual rescue?" McGee looked down, embarrassed. "I feel like we've become good friends and I want to help him. I heard him calling me and trying to get to me when we were ambushed." McGee's voice trailed off.
"You will be helping him, McGee," explained Gibbs, kindly. "You know that monitoring radio frequencies and keeping us apprised of what's going on will be as vital as physically pulling Tony out of there."
McGee looked contrite and nodded, "Sorry, Boss," he said. "I just need to see Tony... alive."
"We all do, McGee."
"Ziva, you know what you need to do?" Gibbs looked over at the diminutive agent as she examined their weapons.
She tested the weight of one of the automatic rifles, hefting it in her hands, looked up at Gibbs and nodded. "I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to get Tony out of there alive." Her mouth curved into a cruel smile, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Checking his own weapon, Gibbs nodded curtly. Snapping a clip into his Sig and grabbing an automatic rifle, he looked at his team.
"Let's go."
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The air had gotten cooler as the sun began to set. Tony managed to lie down on his side without drawing the ire of his captors, and curled up to try to keep himself warm. The rowdy soldiers drank whiskey, played cards and insulted each other loudly, their harsh laughter echoing in the trees. Occasionally, Manuel would go over to Tony and stroke his face, murmuring loving things to him, his whiskey-soaked breath hot in Tony's ear. When he was called away, Manuel would swear and kick the helpless agent before rejoining his comrades.
Tony suspected that his shoulder wound was infected, he was alternately sweating profusely and shivering uncontrollably. He had difficulty hearing, his ears filled with a rushing sound, as if he was in a wind tunnel. He started to give up, certain that he was either going to die from his wound or end up in some Asian whorehouse, servicing drunken businessmen. Tony tried not to cry, he didn't want to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing his tears. He felt completely alone and vulnerable, in pain and feverish. He closed his eyes in an effort to fall asleep and escape the nightmare, at least in his mind. Maybe when he woke up he would find that it was a nightmare, and he was back in his own bed in DC.
Author's Chapter Notes:
A mission to South America turns into something unexpected.
Chapter End Notes:
The characters in this story belong to Bellisarius Productions and Paramount, except for the original characters. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only; no money is being made. Huges thanks go to Rinne, who makes me look smarter than I am by clearing up my bad punctuation and asking me questions when the story doesn't make sense. She also helps when I just don't know how to get from Scene A to Scene B. hugs to Rinne.
A/N: Spanish is indicated by italics.
A/N: Spanish is indicated by italics.