Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

A/N: This is, in honor of Halloween, a try at honest-to-goodness horror. It's one genre I find myself struggling with, so I figured why not try to fix that problem? Anyway, I hope it manages to scare you. Also, this isn't meant to be set in any particular season, only that Ziva is on the team and Vance is the director, but even so, I don't believe there are any spoilers to worry about.

Falling Up

Chapter One

"Federal agents!" Tony shouted, aiming his gun at the cluster of men surrounding a couple of crates marked 'Property of US Navy' and a metallic briefcase containing stacks of cash. Off to his right, Ziva mimicked his stance, while on the other side of the smallish warehouse, McGee and Gibbs did likewise. "Don't move," he commanded, walking closer to the group.

The four men raised their hands, exchanging uneasy glances among themselves. Looks like this one's going to be easy, Tony thought while the team finished crossing the distance to the group. We got all of them, too. Fredricks, Umpton, Calloway, and Knippenhoff. Gibbs and McGee reached them slightly ahead of Ziva and Tony, but only a step or two ahead. The four agents, seemingly without communicating anything out loud, each selected one of the would-be arms dealers and began reading them their Article 32s – or, in Ziva's case, Fredricks' Miranda Rights – while patting them down and latching handcuffs into place.

Tony just finished searching Calloway when an elbow landed sharply in his ribs and Calloway sprinted towards a door that lead into an office area for the warehouse. "Damn it," Tony grumbled, then took off after him. Why do I always wind up with the runners?

"Ziva," Gibbs' order was implicit in his tone – Go after them.

Tony heard it, but spared no thought on it while ducking through the door. He registered the sound of his partner's footsteps behind his own, even while seeing their suspect duck through a steel fire-door. He slammed into it, only a few feet behind Calloway. The door opened into a cement stairwell, leading down. Tony caught a glimpse of Calloway as the man leapt the last few stairs and disappeared into the gloom of the basement. Tony put on a fresh burst of speed, and followed suit.

"Give it up, Calloway!" he shouted into the shadows. "There's nowhere to go!" The blueprints McGee had located had shown as much when Tony had studied them earlier that afternoon.

"That's what you think!" Calloway shouted back, his words containing a bite of humor and glee.

The sound of Calloway's footsteps halted, and Tony squinted into the darkness, trying to find out where the man was. His right hand found his gun with minimal input from his brain, while his left checked pockets to see if he had a flashlight on him. "Come on, kid! I saw the plans for this place. There aren't any exits from this level. It's only a matter of time before we find you and bring you in with your buddies."

Calloway laughed, the sound coming from directly ahead of Tony. Faintly, Tony could hear Ziva checking the row of tiny offices above. Slowly, Tony crept forward. "You don't know everything," Calloway said. A grating, mechanical series of slightly muffled thunks and clanks rendered further conversation impractical. After only a couple of moments of this racket, the shriek of rusty hinges pierced the darkness, overlaid by the grinding, grating noise of metal on concrete. Calloway let out a small chuckle and Tony was positive he heard the ensign mutter, 'Thanks, Granddad,' before beginning to run again.

Tony growled under his breath and ran towards the sound of the footsteps, silently praying that he wouldn't trip on anything. After three steps, his questing left hand finally found a familiar small cylinder. At seven steps, the flashlight was out and clicked 'on'. It didn't throw a lot of light, but it was enough to keep Tony from bouncing off the irregularly-shaped frame of the doorway through which Calloway had disappeared. Just as Tony ducked through it, the same metallic thunking and clanking started up again.

He ignored it, and continued sprinting after Calloway, though some part of his brain noticed that it was the sound of the door to the secret passage closing behind him. The tunnel was brick-lined, and only about five feet wide, with a narrow arching roof. It continued straight for a little over three hundred feet before twisting off to the right. Calloway was far enough ahead of Tony that he couldn't see him in the somewhat weak beam from his flashlight, but the man's footsteps echoed back to him.

Tony reached the sharp bend in the tunnel and skidded to a halt. He could no longer hear Calloway's footsteps, only his own. "Calloway!" he called out. There was no response. What were you expecting? For him to step out and say, 'Here I am, so sorry to have run away like that'? He nearly rolled his eyes at his own silliness. Instead, he carefully crept up to the corner and crouched. He aimed the flashlight down the new length of tunnel and peered around the brick. Calloway was nowhere to be seen, but the tunnel curved again to the left only twenty feet ahead.

Tony slipped up to the new bend and repeated his actions. The next segment of tunnel went on for about a hundred feet, but contained a T-intersection at the end and a branch at its midpoint that opened off to the right. Fantastic. Which way did he go? Tony closed his eyes and focused all his attention on his hearing, but that lent him no clues. He sighed and opened his eyes, then crept to the first branch in the tunnel. It didn't lead to another tunnel, but opened instead onto a room half-filled with slowly-disintegrating wooden crates. One crate stood open, near the archway back to the tunnel. Tony paused long enough to ascertain the bottles it contained were gin. A tiny part of Tony clapped his hands and jumped up and down in excitement that he was inside a prohibition-era secret passage, but most of him was focused on finding Calloway. Who definitely isn't in here. Tony exited the room and continued towards the T-intersection.

At the intersection, Tony aimed his light to the right, then the left. Which way? He strained his ears, but could hear only himself. Both directions were identical, going on for about thirty feet with additional archways on either side every ten feet or so, before dead-ending. Eenie, meenie, miney, moe. Tony went to the left, pausing at the first arch find another tunnel, peppered with archways. The next doorway revealed another room of crates like the first. A rustling noise came from the corner furthest from the door. Carefully, Tony silently maneuvered around the boxes and aimed both his pistol and the flashlight at the source of the noise, his pulse hammering in his ears.

He stepped around a precarious stack of crates and nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted a pair of beady black eyes staring back at him. The rat squeaked and scuttled into the crack between the crates and the brick wall. Tony had to laugh a little. "Damn rats," he muttered, then let out a long breath. Think it's time to head back to the team. We're going to need more people on this one.

Tony exited the storage room and started back to the passageway that would take him back to the warehouse basement. He didn't hear the nearly-silent rush of footsteps behind him, but he did sense something off. He started to turn, but something large and heavy connected with his skull.

A/N2: I hope I've captured your attention. More to come soon!

Please remember to review. Thanks in advance.