Jungle Fever (8/10)
Title: Jungle Fever
Author: Calliatra
Rating: FR15
Category: Gen
Pairing: None
Characters: Tony, the whole team
Genre: Casefile
Words: 4,470 (26,461 total)
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a Petty Officer’s decapitated body is found it starts an investigation that spirals out of control and places Tony in grave danger.
Written for the Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge and the Casefile Challenge at NFA and inspired by the Chinese Whisper Challenge.
Chapter Warnings: Lots of douchey rich people and dinner party trivia. Also, language.
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine
* * *
Chapter Seven: A Dinner Party
By the time Tony and Reggie Illroy had reached Abernathy’s mansion, Tony’s patience was already wearing thin.
“You’re lucky, you know,” Reggie was saying, and honestly, Tony wondered if he had some sort of secret supply of oxygen that let him talk without ever stopping to draw a breath, “that I could get you in on such short notice. There would have been no chance, normally, but McMurdoch had to fly to Argentina suddenly on some business emergency. That would have made us thirteen at the party, so Abernathy was very happy when I said I knew someone who was interested in coming along. Anyway, I hope you know what you’re doing. The last guy was just clueless. Good thing I said I’d only met him at a party and brought him along on a whim, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to think I was actually friends with someone like that.”
Tony fought the urge to press the balls of his hands into his eye sockets. Reggie had been babbling nonstop ever since they’d left NCIS headquarters. Tony forced himself to keep listening, in the hope of catching small pieces of relevant information among the vapid, inane chatter. Still, if this kept up much longer, Tony feared he might be forced to strangle Reggie with that unbelievably hideous tie of his.
“Especially Melissa Emmons,” Reggie continued, oblivious to his companion’s state of mind. “You’ll meet her tonight and you’ll have to agree with me that she’s the most beautiful woman who ever lived. I’m going to marry her someday. I mean, okay, she’s turned down all my proposals so far, but- oh, thank you, Daniel.” Reggie had apparently not noticed his limousine coming to a halt, and only interrupted his monologue when his driver opened the door for him.
Tony followed Reggie up the marble steps to the enormous front entrance of Abernathy’s estate. Before they could ring the bell, the door was pulled open by a butler. “Please step in, gentlemen. May I take your coats?”
Having surrendered the requested items, Tony and Reggie followed the butler through the main entrance hall and into the parlor where it seemed all the other guests were already assembled. Immediately, a waiter offered them a tray of Champagne. From the other side of the room, their host came over to meet them.
He held out his hand to Reggie and shook it vigorously. “Illroy, it’s good to see you again. And you must be Talley,” he added, turning to Tony. “I’m Joseph Abernathy.” He gave Tony’s hand a firm squeeze. “Let me introduce you to the other guests.”
Tony had no choice but to follow him. “Illroy tells me you’re in the technology sector,” Abernathy said very casually as he guided him across the room.
The line of questioning was expected, and Tony gave the answer he had carefully worked out with Abby. “It’s not so much me as my grandfather. He designed some things for the Krolmeister company back in his day and held the patent. Some sort of valve, I think, but don’t ask me what kind exactly, science was never really for me. Apparently, though, they still haven’t come up with something better, so they keep using his design. All I do is collect the royalty checks.” Tony laughed carelessly.
“In that case, what do you do with your time?” Abernathy asked with only a hint of inquisitiveness.
“Oh, nothing useful,” Tony replied lightly. “I travel a lot, I golf, and I generally do my best to enjoy life.”
“Yet you don’t usually attend social functions here in DC?” There was an undertone of shrewdness in Abernathy’s question, but Tony was prepared.
“I admit, I usually avoid them. In this city there are far too many people who are convinced they know what is best for all of us, listening to them is not my idea of a good time. I do go out sometimes when I get bored, but one or two parties are usually enough to convince me that I’m better off on my own.”
“Perhaps we crossed paths on one of the few occasions you ventured out into society?” Abernathy enquired. “Your face seems familiar to me somehow.”
That, Tony did not like. In his mind, he ran through all the cases his team had worked recently. Had any of them been reported on? Had there been a picture of him in the news somewhere? He came up with a handful of cases that had drawn a bit of public attention, but in each case NCIS had only been mentioned under the blanket term of “federal agents,” and in none of them had his face been featured. He shrugged it off with a cheerful smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that. I guess I have that kind of face.”
Abernathy did not reply as they had reached the group of people he had been steering him towards. “Talley, meet Lady Evelyn Crowley, Mrs. Gloria Pearce and Miss Melissa Emmons,” he introduced. “Ladies, this is Gordon Talley, a friend of Illroy’s.”
Lady Crowley, a woman of at least seventy years whose white hair had a distinct blue-ish tinge, held out her hand limply, and without missing a beat Tony bent forward to kiss it. He repeated the gesture on Mrs. Pearce and Miss Emmons, causing the latter to blush and giggle slightly. Tony smiled with what he knew was almost irresistible charm, and relaxed slightly. He was in his element.
*
In Abby’s lab, after the first excitement, Abby, McGee and Ziva had gotten bored of listening to Tony making inane small talk rather quickly. They had put the transmission from his wire on loudspeaker so they could do other things while still listening.
“I can’t believe the cafeteria is out of cherry flavored tootsie pops,” Abby complained. She had spent the last half hour tinkering with her lollipop-licking-machine while waiting for her computer to enhance the traffic cam photos enough to make them useful.
“Why don’t you just use grape or strawberry or something?” McGee asked, honestly curious.
“I can’t just use a different flavor,” she explained, slightly exasperated, “I have to control for any difference the different flavors might make!”
McGee decided nodding was probably the safest response.
“Hey,” she asked, suddenly switching gears completely, “is it true that Tony’s pining after a girl?”
“Tony, pining?” McGee laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
“But isn’t he, like, calling her all the time even though she never calls back?” Abby pressed on.
“Oh, come on. Can you see Tony actually bothered just because a random girl stood him up?”
“You do not give him enough credit, McGee,” Ziva said. “I do not think he is pining, but I also do not think he is taking it as lightly as you assume.”
“But,” McGee argued helplessly, “it’s Tony! He’s never cared that much about his dates.”
“People can change,” Ziva said, “Perhaps Tony is changing.”
He didn’t know what to make of that, so he said nothing. A beeping noise from the back room called Abby to the computer in her office, leaving the two of them to listen to Tony complimenting Mrs. Pearce on her dress.
McGee leaned back in his chair and prepared to listen to Tony weave his charm around every woman in the room. He wished he had something to work on. Briefly, he’d considered outlining some plot ideas for the new book his publisher kept pressuring him to write. But he had a tendency to ignore the real world once the ideas started coming, and couldn’t let himself get completely distracted from the dinner party, no matter how boring it might be. Sighing, he settled back and reviewed the facts of the case one more time.
“What is on your mind, McGee?” Ziva’s voice interrupted his thoughts a few minutes later.
“Ah, you know, the case. Thorne.”
“What about him?”
“Well, he was a good sailor, he loved his job and was careful about doing his work right. He didn’t deserve to die.”
“It is not fair,” Ziva agreed. “It is never fair when good people are killed simply because they are in the way of criminals.”
“I know, but this time… Thorne could have left the matter alone after he reported the problem with the inventory. It wasn’t officially part of his job, and the Commander even told him not to worry about it. But Thorne wanted to be thorough, to make sure for himself that there was nothing wrong. He was murdered because he was trying to do the right thing.”
“We will catch the person who killed him,” Ziva said firmly. “That is what Thorne deserves and it is all we can do for him now.” She gave McGee a smile. “He is lucky to have someone who really cares on his case.”
*
In Abernathy’s mansion, dinner had just been announced. Abernathy gallantly offered his arm to Lady Crowley and escorted her into the dining room. Mentally shaking his head, Tony watched as the other men followed suit, with Melissa Emmons looking less than pleased to have ended up on Reggie’s arm.
Tony offered his arm to Helen Fulton, the young wife of one of the other guests, and led her to the table, pulling out the chair to his right for her. To his left sat Lady Crowley, with Abernathy on her other side. Several waiters began filling up the guests’ glasses and Tony turned to engage Mrs. Fulton in conversation, as was expected of him. “Are you often a guest of Mr. Abernathy’s?”
Mrs. Fulton laughed lightly. “Oh, you could say that Alan and I are regulars. But it’s your first time, isn’t it, Mr. Talley?”
“Please,” Tony said, bringing out his most dazzling smile for what seemed like the millionth time, “call me Gordon.”
“Helen.” She returned the smile.
“You’re right,” he said, “it’s my first time. Of course, if I had known how lovely the company would be I would have asked Reggie to introduce me into the party much sooner. Though of course we only just realized we had certain, ah, interests in common.” He winked at her.
Before Helen could reply, a waiter came up behind them. “Caviar, ma’am?”
“No, thank you,” she declined.
The waiter moved on to Tony, holding out a tray that contained one plate of small, elegant slices of bread and a bowl full of caviar with a delicate silver spoon next to it. Clearly he was supposed to help himself to caviar on a piece of bread. Tony stared for a second, the faced the waiter. “Excuse me,” he said firmly, “I think you brought the wrong spoon.”
“Sir?” the waiter asked, indicating polite confusion.
“The spoon,” Tony repeated, “It’s silver.”
The waiter glanced at the tray and then hurried off after an almost groveling apology. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony caught Helen looking at him appraisingly.
*
“What was that all about?” McGee asked, befuddled. Ziva and Abby shrugged, just as clueless as he was.
“I believe I can provide an explanation.” All three of them turned, startled, having missed Ducky’s entrance into Abby’s lab. “In polite society, caviar is only ever served with a mother-of-pearl spoon.”
“Uh, why?” McGee wanted to know.
“To preserve the taste,” Ducky explained. “Metal oxidizes the eggs, lending them a rather unpleasant bite. No waiter accustomed to serving caviar would ever make that mistake. No, I believe this was intended as a test for Anthony.”
“They’re making sure Tony’s high society enough for them?” Abby asked.
“It would appear so. It is lucky for him that he is familiar with all the rules of etiquette.”
*
They were testing him, Tony had quickly realized. Attempting to weed out the unworthy by trying to get him to commit a faux pas. Well, they weren’t counting on his father. Not that he would ever have dreamed that anything his father taught him might be useful for his job, but here he was, semi-consciously employing all of his father’s tricks.
Every faked laugh, every carefully laid-out compliment, every jovial remark, it was all taken from his father’s playbook. So much so, in fact, that the words sounded almost wrong in Tony’s voice, as if they were designed uniquely for his father’s slightly deeper, more gravelly one. It was giving Tony a headache. It was working wonders, however; everyone he had spoken to so far seemed to have taken a liking to him. Not that Tony was surprised. No one could escape the DiNozzo charm.
“Would you be so kind as to pass the bread around the table?” Lady Crowley’s request startled Tony and made him realize he had been silent for too long. Though, as everyone was busy eating their soup, it might not be construed as rudeness.
“Of course”, he said quickly. Picking up the breadbasket from the table, he recognized the request for what it was just in time to seamlessly offer the bread to Mrs. Fulton. “Would you like some bread, Helen?” He had to be more careful, he couldn’t be caught off guard like that again.
*
In the Lab, McGee looked to Ducky for an explanation. Ducky seemed to be enjoying listening to Tony fend off the “etiquette-attacks,” as Abby had named them.
“Dishes are always passed around the table counter-clockwise,” the doctor explained patiently. “It would appear the lady who asked that Anthony pass around the bread sits to his left.”
Abby shook her head. “That’s just silly.”
“I believe that is the point. They are making Anthony prove he knows the rules of etiquette that most people have long dispensed with as useless. It is their way of vetting him.” He paused an instant. “Oh dear, I completely forgot why I came here in the first place. Mr. Palmer finished the autopsy on the squirrel. It appears it died exactly the same way Petty Officer Thorne did.”
“The killer poisoned it with croton oil and cut off its head after it was it was dead?” McGee asked.
“That is what the evidence suggests.” Ducky turned to Abby. “But just to be sure, I would like you to analyze the stomach contents.”
Abby nodded and took the small jar from the M.E. “I will. But that’s horrible! Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he was testing his method of killing?” McGee suggested.
“Maybe, I guess. It really gives me the chills, though.” Abby shuddered.
*
By the end of the meal, Tony way exhausted. Making sure to pay careful attention to every word anyone said to him and checking it for any possible trap had left him with a splitting headache. At times it had been obvious, such as when Helen had whispered a quiet “Excuse me” to him and risen to leave the table, obviously checking to make sure he knew to get up without being able to take his cues from anyone else. Other times, however, he had to have his wits about him, such as when he was asked by Abernathy to pass the salt. Not even his father’s company really observed the rule of always passing the salt and pepper together, regardless of which was requested, anymore.
Tony was therefore very relieved when Lady Crowley rose and withdrew with the other women into the drawing room, leaving the men to gather at Abernathy’s end of the table to have manly conversations and smoke. He caught Melissa rolling her eyes slightly on the way out and was glad to see he wasn’t the only one who thought this went so far beyond normal etiquette that it was closer to Victorian role playing. All they were missing was the costumes.
As Abernathy engaged most of them in a discussion about the recent change in chefs at very upscale restaurant, Alan Fulton drew closer to Dawson.
“Is there any news about our, ah, foreign relations?” he asked, quietly. “My wife is rather worried and would like reassurance. She seems to think that the recent lack of news means bad news.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to talk to her later, but there really is no reason for her to worry. There are no crises that I’m aware of, just the usual difficulties. We know where all our allies stand and our enemies haven’t made a move in a while. The current weather conditions may be making it a little more complicated to access some of our bases, but everything is very secure. There really is no cause for concern.”
*
“I understand now what Fornell meant,” Ziva said to McGee. They were still in Abby’s lab, though Ducky had gone back to Autopsy. Abby’s computer had in the meantime finished processing the traffic cam pictures of the dark van, and the scientist herself was now busy deciphering the license plate and running it through the database in all possible variations. That left the two of them listening to the transmission from Tony’s wire.
“Yeah,” McGee agreed. “We know they’re talking about smuggling endangered animals, but to anyone else it just sounds like a vague kind of conversation about foreign relations. We’re definitely going to need more than this to get a warrant.”
“Well, I am sure Tony will manage to get it for us,” Ziva said with certainty.
*
Once the smokers among the men had finished their cigarettes, they all joined the women in the drawing room. Tony chatted amiable with shifting groups of people while surreptitiously keeping his attention on Abernathy and Dawson. Alone or in pairs, the guests seemed to be taking turns idling up to where the two men stood by the window and engaging them in quiet conversation. Lombard stood slightly back from the group and was furtively working on his cell phone, a very high-end device that was capable of pretty much everything short of teleportation.
That had to be where the ‘orders’ were recorded, Tony thought. Considering Lombard was the one in charge of dealing with both clients and couriers, it was possible there was a lot more information on the whole operation on that phone. Tony wished he could get to it, but so far Lombard and his phone were inseparable.
He excused himself, and headed to the bathroom to give McGee a quick update.
“Come in, ground control. Do you read me?” Tony whispered into his collar.
“We can hear you just fine, Tony,” McGee’s slightly exasperated voice sounded in his ear. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve successfully infiltrated their secret society and mastered all the sacred rituals. I believe now they will finally let me-”
“Tony.” There was no mistaking the exasperation in McGee’s voice now. “It’s been a long day.”
“Well, what do you think it’s been like for me? All you had to do was listen, I had to actually live it. But okay, here’s what’s going on. I’m pretty sure the guests are placing their orders with Abernathy and Dawson now, but I can’t get close enough to listen in. So the only chance I’ll get is when I go to give them my order. I’ll make sure I’ll go at the same time as someone else, you pay close attention. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get much more than that, Fornell really wasn’t kidding when he said these guys were careful. So we’ve got to make this work.”
“All right, got it. Good luck in there, Tony.”
“Catch ya later, Probie-gator. Over and out.”
Just as Tony returned to the drawing room, he saw his chance with the two-thirds of the triumvirate when Mr. and Mrs. Fulton graciously moved away from the group by the window. He made his way over at the same time as Lady Crowley did.
“Abernathy,” the lady said fondly, “I have been meaning to tell you how much I always look forward to your dinner parties. I very much regret not having been able to attend your last one, but the hospital staff was very insistent I shouldn’t leave.”
“You have made a remarkable recovery, Evelyn,” Abernathy replied.
“Well, it was only the flu.” Lady Crowley dismissed carelessly. “I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital at all, but my doctor insisted that at my age it was a precaution I ought to take. I’m afraid I must have missed out on one of your absolutely delicious meals, however. I always like an excuse to eat something besides what my doctor has deemed acceptable. He really has no taste or sense of cuisine.”
“Not to worry, Evelyn,” Abernathy said. “I know how much you look forward to what is served at our little dinners. I have already informed the cook that I will be inviting you over for a quiet dinner some time in the near future, and that you are to receive exactly what you would have had, had the hospital not gotten in the way.”
Tony’s head was spinning slightly from trying to keep up with the double-speak, but it sounded like Lady Crowley hadn’t been able to pick up whatever she had ordered from the triumvirate the last time yet. That was definitely interesting.
“Oh, I am delighted to hear that,” Lady Crowley said. “There seems to be such a general decline in taste everywhere nowadays. Your house in one of the few places I know I can rely on to provide the quality I have come to expect over the years.”
“Abernathy is very good at providing a quality that has gone out of fashion everywhere else,” Dawson agreed. “It has gotten so far that these days such quality is actually frowned upon, I’m afraid.”
“I cannot help if I am somewhat old-fashioned, I believe in things of true value,” Lady Crowley said emphatically, “as I know you do, too.”
She turned suddenly to Tony. “What about you, Mr. Talley? You are not old enough to have been raised with an appreciation for such things. You are part of a generation that blindly follows every new vogue, regardless of its actual worth.”
Tony conjured up his most winning smile. “What can I say? I’ve had the experience that what’s fashionable isn’t usually very fulfilling. I’ve discovered that the things most worth having are usually the ones that these days everyone agrees you shouldn’t have. Personally, I think that’s only the rationale of the people who can’t afford what they really want, trying to talk themselves out of wanting it.”
“Very well said, Mr. Talley,” Lady Crowley approved.
Abernathy, however, was giving Tony an odd look. “Would you excuse me for a moment, please?” he asked, and motioned for Lombard to follow him as he stepped out of the room. Lady Crowley looked very surprised and Dawson didn’t seem to know what was going on, either. The conversation stalled with embarrassment, and Tony took the chance to slip away to where Reggie was standing with Melissa Emmons and join their rather one-sided conversation.
When another guests approached Dawson and claimed his attention, Tony waited only long enough for Reggie’s ramblings to make Melissa’s eyes glaze over before slipping out the door after Abernathy and Lombard.
The hallway was empty, but he could hear voices coming from a door up ahead, which was cracked open.
*
Alone in the lab, McGee suddenly sat up straighter. He’d been surprised when the ‘ordering’ conversation was suddenly interrupted, but he wasn’t in any position to really judge what was happening, so he relied on Tony to figure out the situation. Tony had joined a different conversation, presumably waiting to get a second chance with the triumvirate, but now the noise of party chatter had vanished, and at the same time the static had increased. Tony must have left the room. McGee wondered what he was up to.
*
“Tony? Everything all right?” McGee’s voice came through the earwig, distorted by static.
“Yeah. I just can’t talk right now,” Tony whispered in direction of his wire. Coughing twice had been the agreed-upon signal for ‘yes,’ but he couldn’t risk Abernathy and Lombard hearing. Slowly he crept close enough to the door to just barely make out the lowered voices.
“Are you sure you’ve never seen him before?” Abernathy was asking, almost angrily. “You go everywhere with me!”
“I’m sure I’ve never met him,” Lombard said, calmly.
“I suppose you’re right.” It sounded like Abernathy had deflated somewhat. “I don’t think I have, either. But his face is still familiar, somehow.”
There was a sound of steps moving back and forth. Apparently Abernathy was pacing the room. “I’ve got it,” he suddenly said. “Anthony DiNozzo!”
Blood rushed in Tony’s ears. Lombard’s confused “But he’s over sixty!” barely even registered.
This was a problem. What should he do? Return to the party? He didn’t know what they were going to do to him, but they whatever it was, they couldn’t do it in front of witnesses. If they were planning to do anything at all, that was. It wasn’t as if he had managed to gather any useful information. Well, except…
“Lombard’s phone,” he whispered quickly to McGee. “It’s all on Lombard’s phone.”
Then he slowly crept back towards the drawing groom door, trying not to make a sound.
“What is?” McGee’s crackly voice asked in his ear, but Tony was focusing on Lombard and Abernathy.
From a distance, he heard Lombard speak. “DiNozzo has a son, he’s…” he paused as if reading new information, which he probably was. “Damn it, he’s a federal agent!” There were footsteps, and then the door was thrown violently open.
Lombard hurried out. He froze only for a millisecond when he saw Tony, then he got a dangerous look in his eye.
“Shit, he blew my cover!” Tony managed to hiss at the hidden microphone before the whole world went black.
*
In Abby’s lab, McGee rolled his eyes at Tony. ‘It’s the blue makeover’ - really? He could have just said ‘blue,’ since there was obviously no one listening. But of course this was Tony, a little thing like being undercover wouldn’t faze his sense of humor.
McGee wondered what exactly had been going on. Clearly Tony had been alone for a while, since he had been able to talk directly to McGee. Had the triumvirate grown suspicious and decided to scan Tony for bugs before letting him in on the wildlife ordering? Was something else happening? And what was with Lombard’s phone? McGee wished he knew, but in the end, he trusted Tony. He had used the code word to let him know that he was going to cut the signal for a while; Tony wouldn’t have done that without a good reason. Maybe he’d have a chance to explain when he got back online. For now, all McGee could do was sit back and wait.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Author: Calliatra
Rating: FR15
Category: Gen
Pairing: None
Characters: Tony, the whole team
Genre: Casefile
Words: 4,470 (26,461 total)
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a Petty Officer’s decapitated body is found it starts an investigation that spirals out of control and places Tony in grave danger.
Written for the Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge and the Casefile Challenge at NFA and inspired by the Chinese Whisper Challenge.
Chapter Warnings: Lots of douchey rich people and dinner party trivia. Also, language.
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine
* * *
Chapter Seven: A Dinner Party
By the time Tony and Reggie Illroy had reached Abernathy’s mansion, Tony’s patience was already wearing thin.
“You’re lucky, you know,” Reggie was saying, and honestly, Tony wondered if he had some sort of secret supply of oxygen that let him talk without ever stopping to draw a breath, “that I could get you in on such short notice. There would have been no chance, normally, but McMurdoch had to fly to Argentina suddenly on some business emergency. That would have made us thirteen at the party, so Abernathy was very happy when I said I knew someone who was interested in coming along. Anyway, I hope you know what you’re doing. The last guy was just clueless. Good thing I said I’d only met him at a party and brought him along on a whim, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to think I was actually friends with someone like that.”
Tony fought the urge to press the balls of his hands into his eye sockets. Reggie had been babbling nonstop ever since they’d left NCIS headquarters. Tony forced himself to keep listening, in the hope of catching small pieces of relevant information among the vapid, inane chatter. Still, if this kept up much longer, Tony feared he might be forced to strangle Reggie with that unbelievably hideous tie of his.
“Especially Melissa Emmons,” Reggie continued, oblivious to his companion’s state of mind. “You’ll meet her tonight and you’ll have to agree with me that she’s the most beautiful woman who ever lived. I’m going to marry her someday. I mean, okay, she’s turned down all my proposals so far, but- oh, thank you, Daniel.” Reggie had apparently not noticed his limousine coming to a halt, and only interrupted his monologue when his driver opened the door for him.
Tony followed Reggie up the marble steps to the enormous front entrance of Abernathy’s estate. Before they could ring the bell, the door was pulled open by a butler. “Please step in, gentlemen. May I take your coats?”
Having surrendered the requested items, Tony and Reggie followed the butler through the main entrance hall and into the parlor where it seemed all the other guests were already assembled. Immediately, a waiter offered them a tray of Champagne. From the other side of the room, their host came over to meet them.
He held out his hand to Reggie and shook it vigorously. “Illroy, it’s good to see you again. And you must be Talley,” he added, turning to Tony. “I’m Joseph Abernathy.” He gave Tony’s hand a firm squeeze. “Let me introduce you to the other guests.”
Tony had no choice but to follow him. “Illroy tells me you’re in the technology sector,” Abernathy said very casually as he guided him across the room.
The line of questioning was expected, and Tony gave the answer he had carefully worked out with Abby. “It’s not so much me as my grandfather. He designed some things for the Krolmeister company back in his day and held the patent. Some sort of valve, I think, but don’t ask me what kind exactly, science was never really for me. Apparently, though, they still haven’t come up with something better, so they keep using his design. All I do is collect the royalty checks.” Tony laughed carelessly.
“In that case, what do you do with your time?” Abernathy asked with only a hint of inquisitiveness.
“Oh, nothing useful,” Tony replied lightly. “I travel a lot, I golf, and I generally do my best to enjoy life.”
“Yet you don’t usually attend social functions here in DC?” There was an undertone of shrewdness in Abernathy’s question, but Tony was prepared.
“I admit, I usually avoid them. In this city there are far too many people who are convinced they know what is best for all of us, listening to them is not my idea of a good time. I do go out sometimes when I get bored, but one or two parties are usually enough to convince me that I’m better off on my own.”
“Perhaps we crossed paths on one of the few occasions you ventured out into society?” Abernathy enquired. “Your face seems familiar to me somehow.”
That, Tony did not like. In his mind, he ran through all the cases his team had worked recently. Had any of them been reported on? Had there been a picture of him in the news somewhere? He came up with a handful of cases that had drawn a bit of public attention, but in each case NCIS had only been mentioned under the blanket term of “federal agents,” and in none of them had his face been featured. He shrugged it off with a cheerful smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that. I guess I have that kind of face.”
Abernathy did not reply as they had reached the group of people he had been steering him towards. “Talley, meet Lady Evelyn Crowley, Mrs. Gloria Pearce and Miss Melissa Emmons,” he introduced. “Ladies, this is Gordon Talley, a friend of Illroy’s.”
Lady Crowley, a woman of at least seventy years whose white hair had a distinct blue-ish tinge, held out her hand limply, and without missing a beat Tony bent forward to kiss it. He repeated the gesture on Mrs. Pearce and Miss Emmons, causing the latter to blush and giggle slightly. Tony smiled with what he knew was almost irresistible charm, and relaxed slightly. He was in his element.
*
In Abby’s lab, after the first excitement, Abby, McGee and Ziva had gotten bored of listening to Tony making inane small talk rather quickly. They had put the transmission from his wire on loudspeaker so they could do other things while still listening.
“I can’t believe the cafeteria is out of cherry flavored tootsie pops,” Abby complained. She had spent the last half hour tinkering with her lollipop-licking-machine while waiting for her computer to enhance the traffic cam photos enough to make them useful.
“Why don’t you just use grape or strawberry or something?” McGee asked, honestly curious.
“I can’t just use a different flavor,” she explained, slightly exasperated, “I have to control for any difference the different flavors might make!”
McGee decided nodding was probably the safest response.
“Hey,” she asked, suddenly switching gears completely, “is it true that Tony’s pining after a girl?”
“Tony, pining?” McGee laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
“But isn’t he, like, calling her all the time even though she never calls back?” Abby pressed on.
“Oh, come on. Can you see Tony actually bothered just because a random girl stood him up?”
“You do not give him enough credit, McGee,” Ziva said. “I do not think he is pining, but I also do not think he is taking it as lightly as you assume.”
“But,” McGee argued helplessly, “it’s Tony! He’s never cared that much about his dates.”
“People can change,” Ziva said, “Perhaps Tony is changing.”
He didn’t know what to make of that, so he said nothing. A beeping noise from the back room called Abby to the computer in her office, leaving the two of them to listen to Tony complimenting Mrs. Pearce on her dress.
McGee leaned back in his chair and prepared to listen to Tony weave his charm around every woman in the room. He wished he had something to work on. Briefly, he’d considered outlining some plot ideas for the new book his publisher kept pressuring him to write. But he had a tendency to ignore the real world once the ideas started coming, and couldn’t let himself get completely distracted from the dinner party, no matter how boring it might be. Sighing, he settled back and reviewed the facts of the case one more time.
“What is on your mind, McGee?” Ziva’s voice interrupted his thoughts a few minutes later.
“Ah, you know, the case. Thorne.”
“What about him?”
“Well, he was a good sailor, he loved his job and was careful about doing his work right. He didn’t deserve to die.”
“It is not fair,” Ziva agreed. “It is never fair when good people are killed simply because they are in the way of criminals.”
“I know, but this time… Thorne could have left the matter alone after he reported the problem with the inventory. It wasn’t officially part of his job, and the Commander even told him not to worry about it. But Thorne wanted to be thorough, to make sure for himself that there was nothing wrong. He was murdered because he was trying to do the right thing.”
“We will catch the person who killed him,” Ziva said firmly. “That is what Thorne deserves and it is all we can do for him now.” She gave McGee a smile. “He is lucky to have someone who really cares on his case.”
*
In Abernathy’s mansion, dinner had just been announced. Abernathy gallantly offered his arm to Lady Crowley and escorted her into the dining room. Mentally shaking his head, Tony watched as the other men followed suit, with Melissa Emmons looking less than pleased to have ended up on Reggie’s arm.
Tony offered his arm to Helen Fulton, the young wife of one of the other guests, and led her to the table, pulling out the chair to his right for her. To his left sat Lady Crowley, with Abernathy on her other side. Several waiters began filling up the guests’ glasses and Tony turned to engage Mrs. Fulton in conversation, as was expected of him. “Are you often a guest of Mr. Abernathy’s?”
Mrs. Fulton laughed lightly. “Oh, you could say that Alan and I are regulars. But it’s your first time, isn’t it, Mr. Talley?”
“Please,” Tony said, bringing out his most dazzling smile for what seemed like the millionth time, “call me Gordon.”
“Helen.” She returned the smile.
“You’re right,” he said, “it’s my first time. Of course, if I had known how lovely the company would be I would have asked Reggie to introduce me into the party much sooner. Though of course we only just realized we had certain, ah, interests in common.” He winked at her.
Before Helen could reply, a waiter came up behind them. “Caviar, ma’am?”
“No, thank you,” she declined.
The waiter moved on to Tony, holding out a tray that contained one plate of small, elegant slices of bread and a bowl full of caviar with a delicate silver spoon next to it. Clearly he was supposed to help himself to caviar on a piece of bread. Tony stared for a second, the faced the waiter. “Excuse me,” he said firmly, “I think you brought the wrong spoon.”
“Sir?” the waiter asked, indicating polite confusion.
“The spoon,” Tony repeated, “It’s silver.”
The waiter glanced at the tray and then hurried off after an almost groveling apology. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony caught Helen looking at him appraisingly.
*
“What was that all about?” McGee asked, befuddled. Ziva and Abby shrugged, just as clueless as he was.
“I believe I can provide an explanation.” All three of them turned, startled, having missed Ducky’s entrance into Abby’s lab. “In polite society, caviar is only ever served with a mother-of-pearl spoon.”
“Uh, why?” McGee wanted to know.
“To preserve the taste,” Ducky explained. “Metal oxidizes the eggs, lending them a rather unpleasant bite. No waiter accustomed to serving caviar would ever make that mistake. No, I believe this was intended as a test for Anthony.”
“They’re making sure Tony’s high society enough for them?” Abby asked.
“It would appear so. It is lucky for him that he is familiar with all the rules of etiquette.”
*
They were testing him, Tony had quickly realized. Attempting to weed out the unworthy by trying to get him to commit a faux pas. Well, they weren’t counting on his father. Not that he would ever have dreamed that anything his father taught him might be useful for his job, but here he was, semi-consciously employing all of his father’s tricks.
Every faked laugh, every carefully laid-out compliment, every jovial remark, it was all taken from his father’s playbook. So much so, in fact, that the words sounded almost wrong in Tony’s voice, as if they were designed uniquely for his father’s slightly deeper, more gravelly one. It was giving Tony a headache. It was working wonders, however; everyone he had spoken to so far seemed to have taken a liking to him. Not that Tony was surprised. No one could escape the DiNozzo charm.
“Would you be so kind as to pass the bread around the table?” Lady Crowley’s request startled Tony and made him realize he had been silent for too long. Though, as everyone was busy eating their soup, it might not be construed as rudeness.
“Of course”, he said quickly. Picking up the breadbasket from the table, he recognized the request for what it was just in time to seamlessly offer the bread to Mrs. Fulton. “Would you like some bread, Helen?” He had to be more careful, he couldn’t be caught off guard like that again.
*
In the Lab, McGee looked to Ducky for an explanation. Ducky seemed to be enjoying listening to Tony fend off the “etiquette-attacks,” as Abby had named them.
“Dishes are always passed around the table counter-clockwise,” the doctor explained patiently. “It would appear the lady who asked that Anthony pass around the bread sits to his left.”
Abby shook her head. “That’s just silly.”
“I believe that is the point. They are making Anthony prove he knows the rules of etiquette that most people have long dispensed with as useless. It is their way of vetting him.” He paused an instant. “Oh dear, I completely forgot why I came here in the first place. Mr. Palmer finished the autopsy on the squirrel. It appears it died exactly the same way Petty Officer Thorne did.”
“The killer poisoned it with croton oil and cut off its head after it was it was dead?” McGee asked.
“That is what the evidence suggests.” Ducky turned to Abby. “But just to be sure, I would like you to analyze the stomach contents.”
Abby nodded and took the small jar from the M.E. “I will. But that’s horrible! Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he was testing his method of killing?” McGee suggested.
“Maybe, I guess. It really gives me the chills, though.” Abby shuddered.
*
By the end of the meal, Tony way exhausted. Making sure to pay careful attention to every word anyone said to him and checking it for any possible trap had left him with a splitting headache. At times it had been obvious, such as when Helen had whispered a quiet “Excuse me” to him and risen to leave the table, obviously checking to make sure he knew to get up without being able to take his cues from anyone else. Other times, however, he had to have his wits about him, such as when he was asked by Abernathy to pass the salt. Not even his father’s company really observed the rule of always passing the salt and pepper together, regardless of which was requested, anymore.
Tony was therefore very relieved when Lady Crowley rose and withdrew with the other women into the drawing room, leaving the men to gather at Abernathy’s end of the table to have manly conversations and smoke. He caught Melissa rolling her eyes slightly on the way out and was glad to see he wasn’t the only one who thought this went so far beyond normal etiquette that it was closer to Victorian role playing. All they were missing was the costumes.
As Abernathy engaged most of them in a discussion about the recent change in chefs at very upscale restaurant, Alan Fulton drew closer to Dawson.
“Is there any news about our, ah, foreign relations?” he asked, quietly. “My wife is rather worried and would like reassurance. She seems to think that the recent lack of news means bad news.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to talk to her later, but there really is no reason for her to worry. There are no crises that I’m aware of, just the usual difficulties. We know where all our allies stand and our enemies haven’t made a move in a while. The current weather conditions may be making it a little more complicated to access some of our bases, but everything is very secure. There really is no cause for concern.”
*
“I understand now what Fornell meant,” Ziva said to McGee. They were still in Abby’s lab, though Ducky had gone back to Autopsy. Abby’s computer had in the meantime finished processing the traffic cam pictures of the dark van, and the scientist herself was now busy deciphering the license plate and running it through the database in all possible variations. That left the two of them listening to the transmission from Tony’s wire.
“Yeah,” McGee agreed. “We know they’re talking about smuggling endangered animals, but to anyone else it just sounds like a vague kind of conversation about foreign relations. We’re definitely going to need more than this to get a warrant.”
“Well, I am sure Tony will manage to get it for us,” Ziva said with certainty.
*
Once the smokers among the men had finished their cigarettes, they all joined the women in the drawing room. Tony chatted amiable with shifting groups of people while surreptitiously keeping his attention on Abernathy and Dawson. Alone or in pairs, the guests seemed to be taking turns idling up to where the two men stood by the window and engaging them in quiet conversation. Lombard stood slightly back from the group and was furtively working on his cell phone, a very high-end device that was capable of pretty much everything short of teleportation.
That had to be where the ‘orders’ were recorded, Tony thought. Considering Lombard was the one in charge of dealing with both clients and couriers, it was possible there was a lot more information on the whole operation on that phone. Tony wished he could get to it, but so far Lombard and his phone were inseparable.
He excused himself, and headed to the bathroom to give McGee a quick update.
“Come in, ground control. Do you read me?” Tony whispered into his collar.
“We can hear you just fine, Tony,” McGee’s slightly exasperated voice sounded in his ear. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve successfully infiltrated their secret society and mastered all the sacred rituals. I believe now they will finally let me-”
“Tony.” There was no mistaking the exasperation in McGee’s voice now. “It’s been a long day.”
“Well, what do you think it’s been like for me? All you had to do was listen, I had to actually live it. But okay, here’s what’s going on. I’m pretty sure the guests are placing their orders with Abernathy and Dawson now, but I can’t get close enough to listen in. So the only chance I’ll get is when I go to give them my order. I’ll make sure I’ll go at the same time as someone else, you pay close attention. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get much more than that, Fornell really wasn’t kidding when he said these guys were careful. So we’ve got to make this work.”
“All right, got it. Good luck in there, Tony.”
“Catch ya later, Probie-gator. Over and out.”
Just as Tony returned to the drawing room, he saw his chance with the two-thirds of the triumvirate when Mr. and Mrs. Fulton graciously moved away from the group by the window. He made his way over at the same time as Lady Crowley did.
“Abernathy,” the lady said fondly, “I have been meaning to tell you how much I always look forward to your dinner parties. I very much regret not having been able to attend your last one, but the hospital staff was very insistent I shouldn’t leave.”
“You have made a remarkable recovery, Evelyn,” Abernathy replied.
“Well, it was only the flu.” Lady Crowley dismissed carelessly. “I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital at all, but my doctor insisted that at my age it was a precaution I ought to take. I’m afraid I must have missed out on one of your absolutely delicious meals, however. I always like an excuse to eat something besides what my doctor has deemed acceptable. He really has no taste or sense of cuisine.”
“Not to worry, Evelyn,” Abernathy said. “I know how much you look forward to what is served at our little dinners. I have already informed the cook that I will be inviting you over for a quiet dinner some time in the near future, and that you are to receive exactly what you would have had, had the hospital not gotten in the way.”
Tony’s head was spinning slightly from trying to keep up with the double-speak, but it sounded like Lady Crowley hadn’t been able to pick up whatever she had ordered from the triumvirate the last time yet. That was definitely interesting.
“Oh, I am delighted to hear that,” Lady Crowley said. “There seems to be such a general decline in taste everywhere nowadays. Your house in one of the few places I know I can rely on to provide the quality I have come to expect over the years.”
“Abernathy is very good at providing a quality that has gone out of fashion everywhere else,” Dawson agreed. “It has gotten so far that these days such quality is actually frowned upon, I’m afraid.”
“I cannot help if I am somewhat old-fashioned, I believe in things of true value,” Lady Crowley said emphatically, “as I know you do, too.”
She turned suddenly to Tony. “What about you, Mr. Talley? You are not old enough to have been raised with an appreciation for such things. You are part of a generation that blindly follows every new vogue, regardless of its actual worth.”
Tony conjured up his most winning smile. “What can I say? I’ve had the experience that what’s fashionable isn’t usually very fulfilling. I’ve discovered that the things most worth having are usually the ones that these days everyone agrees you shouldn’t have. Personally, I think that’s only the rationale of the people who can’t afford what they really want, trying to talk themselves out of wanting it.”
“Very well said, Mr. Talley,” Lady Crowley approved.
Abernathy, however, was giving Tony an odd look. “Would you excuse me for a moment, please?” he asked, and motioned for Lombard to follow him as he stepped out of the room. Lady Crowley looked very surprised and Dawson didn’t seem to know what was going on, either. The conversation stalled with embarrassment, and Tony took the chance to slip away to where Reggie was standing with Melissa Emmons and join their rather one-sided conversation.
When another guests approached Dawson and claimed his attention, Tony waited only long enough for Reggie’s ramblings to make Melissa’s eyes glaze over before slipping out the door after Abernathy and Lombard.
The hallway was empty, but he could hear voices coming from a door up ahead, which was cracked open.
*
Alone in the lab, McGee suddenly sat up straighter. He’d been surprised when the ‘ordering’ conversation was suddenly interrupted, but he wasn’t in any position to really judge what was happening, so he relied on Tony to figure out the situation. Tony had joined a different conversation, presumably waiting to get a second chance with the triumvirate, but now the noise of party chatter had vanished, and at the same time the static had increased. Tony must have left the room. McGee wondered what he was up to.
*
“Tony? Everything all right?” McGee’s voice came through the earwig, distorted by static.
“Yeah. I just can’t talk right now,” Tony whispered in direction of his wire. Coughing twice had been the agreed-upon signal for ‘yes,’ but he couldn’t risk Abernathy and Lombard hearing. Slowly he crept close enough to the door to just barely make out the lowered voices.
“Are you sure you’ve never seen him before?” Abernathy was asking, almost angrily. “You go everywhere with me!”
“I’m sure I’ve never met him,” Lombard said, calmly.
“I suppose you’re right.” It sounded like Abernathy had deflated somewhat. “I don’t think I have, either. But his face is still familiar, somehow.”
There was a sound of steps moving back and forth. Apparently Abernathy was pacing the room. “I’ve got it,” he suddenly said. “Anthony DiNozzo!”
Blood rushed in Tony’s ears. Lombard’s confused “But he’s over sixty!” barely even registered.
This was a problem. What should he do? Return to the party? He didn’t know what they were going to do to him, but they whatever it was, they couldn’t do it in front of witnesses. If they were planning to do anything at all, that was. It wasn’t as if he had managed to gather any useful information. Well, except…
“Lombard’s phone,” he whispered quickly to McGee. “It’s all on Lombard’s phone.”
Then he slowly crept back towards the drawing groom door, trying not to make a sound.
“What is?” McGee’s crackly voice asked in his ear, but Tony was focusing on Lombard and Abernathy.
From a distance, he heard Lombard speak. “DiNozzo has a son, he’s…” he paused as if reading new information, which he probably was. “Damn it, he’s a federal agent!” There were footsteps, and then the door was thrown violently open.
Lombard hurried out. He froze only for a millisecond when he saw Tony, then he got a dangerous look in his eye.
“Shit, he blew my cover!” Tony managed to hiss at the hidden microphone before the whole world went black.
*
In Abby’s lab, McGee rolled his eyes at Tony. ‘It’s the blue makeover’ - really? He could have just said ‘blue,’ since there was obviously no one listening. But of course this was Tony, a little thing like being undercover wouldn’t faze his sense of humor.
McGee wondered what exactly had been going on. Clearly Tony had been alone for a while, since he had been able to talk directly to McGee. Had the triumvirate grown suspicious and decided to scan Tony for bugs before letting him in on the wildlife ordering? Was something else happening? And what was with Lombard’s phone? McGee wished he knew, but in the end, he trusted Tony. He had used the code word to let him know that he was going to cut the signal for a while; Tony wouldn’t have done that without a good reason. Maybe he’d have a chance to explain when he got back online. For now, all McGee could do was sit back and wait.
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