Reserve Training chapter 5
Next to last chapter.
If you have any ideas for a story in this verse, I'm interested. Not promising to get it done but I'll give it a poke or two. *G*
Chapter 5
Tobias Fornell hated Chicago. He hated the wild drivers, the messed-up streets, the ... everything. He grumbled, “Even the pizza doesn’t make up for this shit,” then he swore as he dodged a taxi. “Fucker drives worse than Ziva David ... and that’s sayin’ something.”
It took him nearly two hours to get to Great Lakes, and another twenty minutes to clear through the gates, which put it near 1100. He got directions to Gibbs’ quarters from the Shore Patrol who’d cleared him and drove through. It wasn’t long before he was parking in front of Gibbs’ Quonset-hut house. He eyed it for a moment, then grumbled, “And I bet it leaks when it rains.” He gathered up his files, USB stick, and tablet, stuffed them back into his briefcase, dragged his suitcase out of the trunk of the tiny car that was all he could get, then went up to knock on the door.
Gibbs opened it, eyed the briefcase and grunted. He stepped back then turned and ambled into the kitchen. Tobias sighed. One of these days Gibbs might learn some manners… maybe. Then he thought, “Nah, never.” He kicked his suitcase next to the couch, dumped his case on the coffee table, and started taking things out of it.
Tobias followed Gibbs into the kitchen, where he was putting together a huge cold-cut platter; the counter was covered with bowls of lettuce, pickles, mayo, ketchup, and several jars of different mustards.
“What the hell? Gibbs, we having a football team over?”
Gibbs chuckled then said, “No. You ever seen the Pod eat? Locusts leave more.”
Tobias looked blank until he figured out what, or who, the Pod was. “We having all of them over?”
“Yeah. Dean and Cosmo are learning the ropes; Remy’s fairly good already. Addin’ to their skill set.” Gibbs frowned, wondering where Dean, Cosmo, and Tim were.
“The others are coming in on a military transport. I refused the pleasure. I’ll bet anything they’re re-routed and on their way to Bum-fuck East Sticksville.” Tobias made a face; he hated military transport with a hot passion.
Gibbs nodded toward the door. “Looks like you lost that bet. Make yourself useful and put this on the bar.” He handed over a bowl of potato salad and another of slaw.
Dean, Cosmo, and Tim thundered in the door. Dean called, “We in the right place. An’ what the hell’s a damn Gunny doin’ here at Great Lakes anyway?”
Gibbs chuckled softly. “And the Thundering Herd arrives.” He eyed the milling group as they greeted each other with back slaps and insults… and a few manly hugs. “All right! Break it up! Bunch a’ girls. Come eat.”
Fornell got on his phone and obviously waited for whomever he was calling to answer; finally he barked, “Sacks! Where the hell are you? I gave you the address; get your butt here, now.”
He listened for a moment then replied, “I’ll send someone to get you then.” Gibbs raised an eyebrow in inquiry so he said, “Dumbass is lost.”
Gibbs pointed to Dean and said, “Cobra, go find the dipshit.”
Dean shrugged, wiped his hands on a napkin and said, “Well, where the hell is he?”
Fornell just handed him the phone, “Ask him yourself.”
It didn’t take Dean long to find out that Sacks evidently didn’t know East from West and was at the right number but the wrong end of the street. He barked, “Just fuckin’ stay there, I’ll come find your stupid ass.” He hung up the phone and tossed it to Tobias. “I’ll be back in ten.” He trotted out the door, jumped the steps, and disappeared down the street.
Ron Sacks was standing in front of a small duplex looking tired and worried. He had gotten his orders and immediately packed his things. He knew he was going to be moved to different housing- he couldn’t stay in a barracks by himself- so he had his duffel at his feet. He blinked at the black-clad SEAL that trotted up. “Sir?”
“Cale, Dean; Chief Warrant Officer. Fornell sent me to find you. Come on.” Dean didn’t bother to check to see if Sacks was following him, nor did he offer to carry anything. This left Sacks carrying his duffel and briefcase while jogging to keep up with Dean, who stretched his legs into a slow trot.
They were back at Gibbs’ Temp Quarters in fifteen minutes. As they entered, Tobias yelled, “You said ten! You’re late!”
Dean shrugged, took the sandwich out of his hand and said, “Can’t help it that your lady friend is slow.” He took a bite of the sandwich, grimaced, and dropped it on a plate. As he disassembled it to take out the tomatoes, he added, “Not too sure he’s gonna be much use for awhile.”
Meanwhile, Sacks was leaning against the door frame, panting like a bellows.
Tony eyed him then said, “And you think you’re in shape to chase down perps? Seriously?”
Remy handed him a folder and said, “Quit pickin’ on him and read this.”
Fornell made another sandwich while he explained what was going on to Sacks. He pointed, “Make a sandwich and read that.”
Sacks eyed the pile of folders as he assembled a satisfactory sandwich. “Man, what kind of mess is this?” He settled with his food and a drink.
The rest of the day was spent in reading folders, debating facts, having Tim run financials and searches and swearing.
Gibbs finally eyed his watch, announced, “It’s 1900. We’re not getting anywhere and I’m hungry.”
Tony frowned. “Pasta? or Pizza?”
Fornell frowned. “Not in the mood for pizza. What kind a’ pasta?”
Tony rummaged in the fridge and cabinets for a moment then said, “A la dump.”
“What?”
“Check the fridge and cabinets, dump it all in a pan and add pasta. So… mushrooms, some bacon, couple of cans of stewed tomatoes and frozen peas. Boss, you didn’t use these for a cold pack, did you?” Gibbs said that he hadn’t so the bag of peas got added to the pile. “There’s some ...” Tony eyed the something in a container then said, “Furry, and I think it winked at me.” He tossed the container to Remy, ordering, “Kill that, will you?” Remy took it out, container and all; the clang of the GI garbage can told its own tale. “Cherry tomatoes. Cream. Lot’s of Parm. And ... Jet, what the fuck are you doing with panchetta?”
“No idea what that even is.” Gibbs took off his glasses to eye the pile. “Ditch those tomatoes, they’re fuckin’ nasty. Really tasteless and salty.”
Tony put the cans back in the cabinet. “Okay. So, Pasta a la Putanesca.” He gave an exclamation of delight as he found some spinach in the crisper. “Spinach! Jet?”
“No idea on that either.”
Tony scribbled a list and gave it to Cosmo. “Go to the PX and get this.”
“On it.”
Sacks announced, in a smugly satisfied tone, “You’re not supposed to have subordinates run errands for you.”
Tony started to say something but Fornell beat him to it. “There’s rules like that for a reason and this is not it. Sit the fuck down and shut your cake hole. I’m hungry.”
Dean just said, “Orders that are mutually beneficial, like requests to procure food, clothing, or other sundries or necessities for a platoon or squad are exempt.” He eyed Sacks for a moment then added, “Jerk.”
Cosmo eyed him, said, “Do not be a dumbass,” then left to get the groceries.
Tony started his sauce, then set to cutting tomatoes in half. Sacks bit his lip, got a thump from Tobias, then offered, “I could show you how to do that a lot quicker.”
Tony nodded. “The old stick ‘em between two saucers thing? Sorry, good idea but no saucers, just cups.”
Sacks frowned. “And why cups but no saucers?”
Tony shrugged, “No idea. Who knows why the military does half the things it does?”
Sacks got up and offered to chop or slice or something. Tony eyed him for a moment then handed over the mushrooms. “Slice, please.”
“Should I wash them first?” Sacks eyed the two pint containers of mushrooms.
“No. Wipe the dirt off with a damp paper towel. If you get them really wet, like washing them, they’ll just steam and water out in the sauce. Make the slices fairly thick.” Tony returned to blanching the spinach.
Sacks frowned at Tobias, but did as he was asked. He carefully wiped the dirt off the stems of the mushrooms, then sliced them into thick slices. “You’re awfully competent in the kitchen for a rich kid.”
Tony eyed him but didn’t say much. Gibbs looked at Fornell, said, “Toby. Your turn.”
Fornell sighed, “Sorry, DiNozzo.” He grabbed Sacks and dragged him out the door. It didn’t take him long to disabuse Sacks of the last of his illusions about Tony. They returned, both of them looking slightly ill. Sacks returned to his work, and Tobias picked up the next file in his queue and settled to work his way through that one.
Tony didn’t say anything to Sacks when he came back, he just kept on cooking. He eyed the pot, wondering if there would be enough. He had two mouths extra to feed. The Pod ate enough for ten, plus Fornell and Sacks. He shook his head. “Just hope there’s going to be enough.”
Just then, Cosmo stuck his head in the door and yelled, “Bucket brigade. Come on.”
Everyone except Tony trotted out to form a line to hand the groceries in. Cosmo started pulling bags out of the back of the SUV they’d rented in Chicago. He found that, if everyone took two bags, they’d only have to make one trip each. He smugly strolled in empty handed and flopped down on the couch.
Dean flopped down next to him, elbowed him in the ribs and said, “Jerk.”
“Bitch. I shopped.” Cosmo pushed Dean off the couch. He landed on the floor with a yelp and a thump.
Gibbs didn’t even look up from the file he’d returned to. “Corners.”
Dean eyed Gibbs for a moment then said, “Oh, no. No corners.”
“Then settle down.” He tossed each of them a file. “See what you can find out about similarities in habits, mutual acquaintances, that sort of thing.”
Sacks blinked at that and said, “Corners?”
Gibbs heard him and explained, “If they don’t settle down when I tell ‘em, they have to stand in a corner for fifteen minutes. House rules.”
Sacks blinked, “Does that include you?”
“No, my house. And...” he eyed the two men. “I’m not a rowdy nutjob.”
Dean cheerfully flipped him a bird.
Sacks finished slicing the mushrooms then said, “I’ll set the table.” He rummaged the cupboards and found― nothing. “What the hell are we supposed to eat off?”
Gibbs looked up from the file he was rereading. “I don’t know. Go down to the mess and get something. I’ll call.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called someone who told him that they could have enough things to serve the group and to bring it back when they were done with it.
Remy and Sacks left with Sacks well aware that, if he got in anyone’s face for any reason, Fornell was going to eat him a new one.
Remy nodded. “You learnin’. See ... you got a’ idea in yo head an’ it stuck. Ya act on it, instead a’ thinkin’ things through.” He held up a hand when Sacks started to object. “I know ... they’ was evidence ... but the ting’ is ... you didn’t ‘low for personality or reputation. Learn a lot from dat. An’ you like a dog wit’ a rag. You get an idea an’ no logic or reasoning will move it.”
Sacks sighed. “Okay. I was wrong. But I’m more right than I am wrong.”
“But when you wrong and someone prove it ... you still doan listen. Dat make you stupid.” Remy frowned at Sacks then just turned and walked on.
Sacks hurried after him, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. Fornell had been telling him for years that he was wrong-headed, but he knew what he knew. Only ... it seemed that he didn’t.
Remy eyed him as he strode along beside him. “Yo’ got smoke comin’ out yo’ ears. Talk.”
“Well ... I’m ... stuck. I’m a good investigator but Fornell has been on my case since that debacle with DiNozzo. Not to mention the second one with that girl ... some undercover thing that came back to bite him ... last year? Anyway. I just don’t get it. Facts are facts.”
Remy took pity on him and pointed out, “You get thin’ backward. Oui, facts are facts ... but you try to make facts fit yo’ idea. Not make yo’ idea fit facts. And dat’s a problem. How many people are in prison right now because some hard charger took the facts they liked and made a case? More and more show up all de time. Yo’ doan wan’ be known fo’ bein’ that sort, but you are.”
Sacks swallowed; this pill was not only huge, but extremely bitter. He felt things click in his head for the first time ever. “Well, fuckin’ shit. Damn it.”
“Think with your heart as well as your head. Get all the facts, all of them. Then make your judgement on the facts. If you do it the other way around, you’ll always be wrong.” Remy nodded once then said, “We should a’ drove. We’re gonna have the devil of a time carrying all that shit we need.”
Ron just shrugged, still a bit stunned by his epiphany. “We’ll manage. Besides, that SUV is full of luggage.”
The sailors at the mess had already put together a box of dishes, flatware, and other things; including paper napkins. Remy accepted their salutes with easy confidence then gathered up the box of breakables; he nodded to the other one, “Grab that, will you?”
Sacks picked up the box and waited to find out what was next. That turned out to be one of the sailors offering, “Sir? I’m off duty now, and I’ve got room for you and this stuff. It’s not even out of my way.”
Remy grinned, “Thanks.” They stuffed the boxes into the trunk and got into the car. Remy took shotgun and Ron took backseat. It only took them five minutes to get back to the hut and a few seconds to unload. They sent the driver on his way with thanks and carried the boxes into the hut.
Gibbs nodded to Remy. “You two set the table, food’s about ready.”
Fornell glowered at Sacks who ducked his head and scurried to start setting the picnic table out back. Tony just left the pasta in the cook pot ―and why the hut had three big pots, no small ones and no dinnerware was a good question― and brought that to the table. There was also a huge salad, also in a pot. Dean brought out several odd-shaped foil packages, which he opened to reveal garlic bread.
Tony settled at the head of the table while Gibbs took the foot. That left one side to Tim, Cosmo, and Dean and the other to Fornell, Sacks, and Remy.
Gibbs took some pasta then passed the spoon to Fornell, he didn’t even think about passing the pot. A pot big enough to hold enough food to feed this group was way too heavy to pass. He used tongs to add a helping of salad then grabbed a heel of garlic bread. He loved the heels and Bogarted them when they were home, unless Ducky was there, then he left them for him.
Tony, seeing this, said, “There’s got to be a way to get more heels out of a loaf of bread. You leave the heels for Ducky.”
Sacks poked his pasta for a second then said, “Buy shorter loaves. There’s a really nice short loaf at DiCarlo’s Bakery. Just buy more loaves.” He looked up to see everyone staring at him. “What?”
Dean swatted Cosmo, exclaiming, “And why didn’t you think of that?”
Cosmo yelped in mock pain and returned, “Why didn’t you?”
Remy eyed them for a moment then ordered, “Settle. You knock the table over and Gibbs will have you on the mats. Jerks.”
Sacks eyed the two men while they argued over not much of anything. He’d seen teams with the FBI act in much the same way, very like siblings, arguing heatedly one minute, a closed unit the next. And God forbid that anyone get in between them.
Gibbs nodded once, “I will. And any of you other squids that decides to act up at table.”
Sacks also noticed the indulgent expression on DiNozzo’s face. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or smack someone.
Fornell couldn’t believe the change in his friend. Gibbs had always been shut off, stone-faced; now he was openly laughing at something Tim had said. He was glad his friend had finally opened up. He grabbed for the salad and got his hand slapped. “Hey!”
Gibbs pushed the pot his way. “Ask; don’t reach. Bread?”
Tobias took the offered bread and said, “If Emily had done that, I’d have swatted her one. Sorry.”
Gibbs just grunted around a mouth full of pasta and returned to listening to Tim.
Fornell nodded, poked Sacks, and snarled, “You got your shit straight?”
Ron couldn’t help but sigh before he replied, “I do. There’s things that I thought were ... well, Head up ass, over-heated brain that doesn’t work so well. I’m over it.” He poked the pasta for a moment then announced, “DiNozzo. Pasta is really good. Thanks for cooking for us.”
Tony eyed him for a moment then said, “Welcome.”
Remy beamed at Sacks and nodded to him.
It wasn’t long before Dean was threatening to lick the pot and Cosmo was mopping up the last of his sauce with a scrap of bread. Gibbs pointed to Dean and Sacks. “KP. Tim ... check those financial searches. Remy ... see what you can do to connect our victims. Tony ... connect all three of them to the missing guy if you can. Let’s go, people, daylight’s burnin’.”
They all got up and headed back inside to deal with their assignments. Fornell and Gibbs started working on getting the various jurisdictions to cooperate with NCIS or the FBI. It was a bit of slow going, as someone had already alienated them all by hard-charging their departments. Gibbs snarled, “And this is why I leave all this shit to AJ; he’s a people-person and can get the most ornery sheriff or chief to cooperate. Now what?”
Fornell agreed then nearly whined, “And whoever has pissed off RenCo, and they won’t even tell us what is missing, only that it’s highly classified and ‘need to know’, which we don’t. The only thing they are saying is that it’s on a stick thing and missing.”
Tony flipped through his notes then grumbled, “We seem to be getting cock-blocked by a guy named LaRoquet, Giles. He just doesn’t seem to care what’s going on. He keeps telling everyone ‘need to know’ or ‘not my pay grade’. I think we ought to drag him in and sweat him. Something about him smells, and it’s not his aftershave.”
They all realized that they needed to get back to DC, where all the murders, missing persons, and data were. This was not going to be fun. At least Tobias Fornell was sure it wasn’t going to be much fun; he hated military transport with a passion. As far as he was concerned, he’d rather travel by cattle truck.
Tony made a call, while Gibbs made another.
Everyone checked to make sure that they would have time to pack up whatever needed packing. Tim grumbled, “Go to Great Lakes, go back to DC. Hurry up and wait.”
Remy cheerfully replied, “Military fact of life. Check for earplugs, and we’ll just sleep.”
Dean grabbed his ruck, pulled out a box and waved it at Remy. “Right here. Got enough for everyone.”
Fornell mumbled, “Didn’t even have a chance to shower and change.”
Gibbs jerked a thumb in the direction of his bathroom. “Got at least an hour; go.”
Fornell snatched his dopp kit and a change of clothing out of his bag and hurried off. “Anyone else?”
Tim shrugged, “We had a spit bath, it’ll do. We can all clean up when we get home.” Dean and Cosmo refrained from comment, used to the military habit of shuffling people hither and yon without explanation only to send them in the opposite direction ten minutes later.
While Tobias was showering and changing, Tony and Remy went to their assigned quarters to clean and pack; the rest of the group cleaned up the Quonset. Gibbs easily packed his ruck and put it by the door on top of his gun case.
His phone rang just as Tony and Remy returned. “Gibbs.” He listened to the officer on the other end then said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He closed his phone turned around and barked, “We got wings. We need to be at the field in thirty, so move it.” He grabbed his stuff and hurried out.
Everyone scrambled to get to the SUV. Fornell announced, “There’s not enough room. What are we going to do?”
Tony scoffed, then pointed. “We’ll all fit. Come on.”
They put Tim behind the wheel; Tony took shotgun with Dean on his lap. Remy, Gibbs and Cosmo took the next seat and, since the third seat was down to hold all the luggage, Fornell and Sacks wound up in their laps.
They arrived at the airstrip, parked the SUV and hurried to board. The load officer didn’t look pleased but saluted them as a group, pointed and said, “I’ve set aside the forward seats for you as a group. If you’d like, you can put all your luggage in ...” He eyed Gibbs’ long gun case. “Or not.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of a cargo net hung from one wall and ambled off to cuss out a group of fresh fish who seemed to think they ruled the world. He disabused them of that idea loudly, with several profanities and appropriate gestures.
They put all the rucks and Fornell’s suitcase in the net, then put Gibbs’ rifle and Fornell’s briefcase under the seats.
As they settled in, Fornell grumbled, “They don’t even have proper seats.” He struggled to get comfortable in the lawn-chair-strap seat; it really didn’t work for him.
Tony took pity on him and handed him a blanket, showing him how to stuff it behind his back to reshape the seat. “You better put in earplugs.” Tony handed him a pack of disposable earplugs.
“Thanks, man. I ... um...”
Sacks tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to but Tony cut him off. “Forget it. We’re good.” Sacks shook his head; DiNozzo’s infinite ability to shake things off amazed him. He was seriously rethinking his attitude toward the man. He settled back in his seat, poked the blanket behind him into better position, stuffed the earplugs into his ears and went to sleep.
Tobias Fornell put in his earplugs as takeoff began. He knew he was not going to be comfortable, warm, or anything until they reached DC. He wondered how long the flight was going to take.
The loading officer finished the last of his paperwork and walked around a bit to check on his passengers. There weren’t that many in the hold, as it was so full of ‘real’ cargo, but the small passenger area was full of men. He glanced over them, checking to see that they were all properly seated. He could tell that four of them were some sort of SpecOps group, as they were all huddled together; you couldn’t touch one without alerting them all. Another group was comprised of an older, grey-headed man and a younger taffy-haired one; both looked lean and mean, possibly a HOG and his PIGlet. The last two men were a bit odd; the younger man was military, the older should have had civilian written on his face but they were slumped together, or the younger man was leaning on the older, who was tolerating it with a combination of irritation and amusement. LO Smith offered, “I could move him for you.”
Fornell shook his head, “No, he’s one of mine, it’s fine.”
“Okay. You need anything I can provide, just let me know.”
“I just want to get back to DC. How long, do you think?”
The loading officer eyed his tablet, a constantly updated flight record. “Um ... unless we get diverted, three hours. We should be in DC at about 0200, plus or minus. Don’t quote me on that, though.”
Fornell just said, “Thank you.” He poked Sacks into a more comfortable, for him, position and grumbled, “Damn it. Fly to Great Lakes, fly back to DC, wonder where we’ll go next. And not until I’ve had at least eight hours in a real bed, a hot shower, clean clothing, and a decent meal. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”
Someone offered from the dim back of the compartment, “We’re all too old for this shit, but we keep on doin’ it. All of us are crazy.”
Another voice offered, “Prime test for insanity ... keep doin’ the same stupid thing and expect different results.”
“Asshole.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
Gibbs and Tony barked, “Shut up, idjits.” at the same time then said, “Bread an’ butter.”
Fornell just groaned and leaned back to try to sleep.
.
Now, most military will tell you that there are gods, and there are Gods; it seemed that the Gods of Luck were smiling on the whole Pod as the plane wasn’t diverted. This meant that they arrived in DC at 0220, deplaned with speed, and were standing in front of the terminal by 0300. Gibbs whistled shrilly and gestured, resulting in a short bus pulling up to pick them up.
They piled in, luggage in hand. Gibbs left his duffel to someone else and took care of his rifle case. Tony was happy to deal for him. They got seated, gave the driver the address to Mallard Manor, and endured the drive. Fornell was a bit surprised to realize that he was staying there.
Emily was with her grandparents, so there was actually no reason for him to go to an empty house to shower, shave, and sleep. He realized that he was grateful.
Gibbs poked Sacks. “You’re stayin’ with me. Couch makes up into a bed.”
Ron started to say that he could just go home, then realized that he didn’t want to. “Thanks.”
This caused Dean to remark. “Jet, you know, you really need to finish that table.”
Gibbs grimaced. “I know. But it’s a bad luck piece. First I had to order the board feet and wait forever. Then, one of the boards had a piece of metal in it and ruined my plane blade, so I took it all back to be x-rayed. Turns out there was a bit of something in another board. I took the whole shipment back and had them reorder from someone else. I’m still waiting.”
Dean shook his head. “If they said it was x-rayed, why wasn’t it?”
“Lumber yard tried to save money on the boards to make a bigger profit. Didn’t work. I’m going to a different yard.”
The chatter died off then; everyone was tired and knew they had to get up early or they’d hear it from Vance, the SecNav, and who knew who else.
When they arrived at Mallard Manor, that group scrambled to sort out their luggage and get to the door. The driver waited patiently, politely making sure that his headlights were pointed at the door.
This turned out not to be necessary as Ducky came to the door as they approached it, Jimmy hovering behind his shoulder. A flick of a switch turned on the porch lights.
Tobias nodded to Ducky. “Doctor. Hope you don’t mind that Tony said I could crash here.”
Ducky stepped back, “I don’t mind at all, dear boy. Come in. Come in. Wipe your feet.” He eyed the sorry-looking group as he led the way. “Anything to eat?”
Tony took a quick visual vote, then spoke for all of them. “No thanks, Ducky. It’s too late at night. We’ll have something good tomorrow morning.”
They clattered up the stairs and went to their rooms. Ducky pointed, “Tobias, you’ll be there. There’s the loo. I’m there, and AJ is there.” He pointed to the various doors, then said, “Good night. Sleep well,” and went back to his bed, well aware that he had to be up at 0700, as did everyone else.
.
Gibbs gave his address to the driver, reassuring him, “I’ll pay the whole tab and collect from everyone else later.”
“Yes, sir. We’re about ...”
Gibbs interrupted the driver with a chuckle, “I’m well aware of how long it will take. Let’s put some wheels under this thing.”
The driver got behind the wheel and took off. It took them less than thirty minutes to get to GHQ; there was nearly no traffic to speak of.
When the driver pulled up in front of Gibbs’ place, he set the brakes and announced, “We’re here.”
Gibbs settled the bill with a yawn, giving the driver a good tip on top of the bill. “Take it easy going home. Good night.” He watched for a moment as Remy handed out luggage then held out his arms to accept his rifle case and duffel. “Let’s get inside, I’m beat.”
Remy also yawned, “Me too. I’m for jus’ dumpin’ all this in the livin’ room and sortin’ later.”
Gibbs, who hated things just dumped, was torn but finally agreed, “Okay. Just this once.” He pointed to the new, pull-out couch, “All the stuff is in it. Night.”
Ron pulled the couch into a bed, made it up, and tumbled in.
It only took a few minutes for everyone else to hit the rack; sleep soon followed.
.
It was a very grumpy group that woke to the ringing of the house phone. Gibbs dragged himself out of bed with the hand set pressed to his ear. “What!” he listened for a few moments then snarled, “We’ll all be in in an hour.” He got out of bed and hammered on doors, yelling, “Up! Up!”
Remy rolled out of bed, landing on his knees, groping for a weapon that wasn’t there. He woke completely and yelled, “Okay! Okay! What’s the panic?”
Gibbs was banging on Dean and Cosmo’s door, but he heard and replied, “We got the go from SecNav and FBI. I want us all at Mallard Manor in an hour. UP!”
Dean yelled, “We’re fuckin’ up, damn it. Stop tryin’ ta break the damn door down.”
Cosmo just grumbled incoherently from his position behind the bed. He was rummaging under it for his boots. “Damn jarhead. Noisy asshole.”
Meanwhile, at Mallard Manor, Ducky was doing much the same thing in his own rather British way. He just turned the sound system in the front lounge up as loud as it would go and played Reveille. The swearing was epic.
“Yes. Exactly so. Now, shower and get downstairs as quickly as you can. I have a feeling that we’ll be invaded soon and I want a proper brekkie started. Hurry along now.” Ducky didn’t bother to tell anyone that he was already up, dressed, and getting ready to make tea.
As he puttered in the kitchen, Ducky kept an ear out for the GHQ mob, as he called them. When he heard a knock on the door, he called, “Come on in, it’s open.”
Gibbs ambled in, followed by Dean, Remy, Cosmo, and Sacks. Tony trotted in a few seconds later followed by Jimmy and Tim. Fornell, it seemed, was still shaving.
Gibbs started to tell Tony something, but Ducky firmly interrupted him. “You’ll not start an all-day think tank on an empty stomach. Come cook, AJ.”
Tony grinned, “Full English?”
Ducky smiled benignly and said, “If you don’t mind, dear boy. I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
“Well, we can’t have that. Fornell?”
“Coffee, then I’m your man.”
Gibbs just headed for the coffee pot. “Duck. Need hot water?”
“No, I’ve already started the pot. It should be ready in a mo’.” Ducky had relaxed around the group enough that he indulged in some of the slang he’d grown up with. He could have them all in stitches with his use of Perlie slang or Cockney rhyming.
Ron looked up, “Tea? What kind?”
“For morning, Fortum and Mason Scottish Blend. Would you care for a cup?” His hopeful look made Ron smile and nod.
He accepted the cup Ducky offered him with a soft, “Thanks, Dr. Mallard.”
Ducky patted his shoulder and said, “Just call me Ducky. Everyone does so.”
Fornell took one look at the organized chaos that Ducky’s kitchen had turned into and decided to take the coward’s way out. “There coffee yet? I’m dyin’ here.”
Gibbs, realizing exactly what his long-time friend was up to, just handed him a mug and pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit by Ducky and keep out of the way.” He eyed Sacks for a second, “You too.” He then went back to supervising.
Fornell suddenly said, “Well, shit!”
Gibbs didn’t even look over at him; he just smirked and said, “Finally remembered your car.”
“I did, you asshole; why didn’t you remind me?” He began dialing his phone.
“Last time I reminded you of anything, you bit my head off.”
“Jerk, that was because you were reminding me that you told me not to marry Dianne.” He put the phone to his ear, then juggled back and forth as he worked his way through a phone tree to actually take care of the car. He finally hung up after one last press one for this, two for that, three for something else. “Damn it. Just once, I’d like to talk to a real, live, human person.”
Tim absently replied, “Well, just press zero and hold it. That usually works. If it doesn’t, press random numbers then wait. Someone’ll usually come online to tell you you’re doing it wrong and ask how to direct your call.”
Tobias snarled, “And you couldn’t tell me this sooner?”
Tim looked up from potato patrol and smirked slightly. “I could, but where would be the fun in that?”
Tony, meanwhile was orchestrating getting tomatoes grilled, real English-style bacon fried, eggs fried and poached, mushrooms fried, and beans heated. He stopped a minute and called, “Ducky. Where’s the pudding?”
Ducky laughed and told him where it was. Sacks poked Fornell and hissed, “Pudding? For breakfast?”
Ducky answered, “Not sweet pudding, Black Pudding and Suet Pudding. I like it.” He patted Sacks on the hand. “You don’t have to eat it.”
Sacks frowned then told him, “I’d give it a try. Never had it.”
Tobias shook his head. “I know your tastes, and you won’t like it.” He gave Ron a run-down of the ingredients which caused him to make a face. “Told you.”
“I’m sure it’s an acquired taste.”
Ducky agreed. “I’ve eaten it since I can remember. Love the stuff. How Tony manages to get it, I’ll never know; but it’s some of the best I’ve had in a long time.”
Gibbs replied to that comment with the surprising information that Tony made it himself.
Ducky frowned, “Now, how in the world does he manage to do that in secret?”
Tony overheard that and told him, “I don’t try to keep it a secret. It’s just that it stinks so much I try to do it early in the morning or late at night so the smell is gone by the time someone wants to eat.”
“Well, I do thank you very much, dear boy. I’m very grateful.” Ducky smiled benignly at all his ‘boys’.
It wasn’t long before Tim was finished with the potatoes and had them diced for cottage fries. He got a skillet and added butter; when the butter was melted, he added the potatoes and some chopped onion; salt and pepper followed that. He kept an eye on that, stirring it occasionally to keep it from burning.
Gibbs eyed the pan then asked Tony, “Who’s making toast?”
Tony pointed to Dean who was hovering over a four-slot toaster. “Dean. Tim, help Dean, will you? And don’t let those ‘taters burn.”
Tim poked Tony, saying, “One time. I swear.”
Tony snorted then went to check the tomatoes. Grilled tomatoes had to be watched like a hawk or they’d burn; tomatoes have a surprising amount of sugar in them.
Remy was stirring the beans to keep them from scorching; he gave them one last poke and said, “Beans are hot. Bowl?”
Tony checked the mushrooms, which were done. “Yeah, and the mushrooms. Take them on into the dining room. Okay?”
“Sure thing.”
“McGee?”
“Five minutes on the spuds. Toast?”
Dean answered, “Done. I’m takin’ it in.”
Tony deftly plated the tomatoes while asking, “Cos? Bacon?”
“Done and plated.”
“Eggs?”
Gibbs answered that. “Done and ...” he put the last of the poached eggs in little bowls. “Done.”
A quick check by both men led the last of the food to the table and everyone taking a seat.
Ducky nodded. “Looks excellent. Jet, if you would?”
Gibbs picked up the first platter, took a serving of bacon and passed it on. He quickly worked his way through the platters while Ron noted that the small bowls of poached eggs had made their way in front of Ducky, Jimmy, Tim, and Tony; he wondered why they called him AJ, so he asked.
Tony told his tale, ending, “So Jet was kind enough to let me change Dominic to Jethro. Pissed the old man off to no end.” He grinned.
Sacks nodded. “I see. Names are important in more ways than most people think. Pass the bacon please.”
They passed this and that, and Sacks learned that manners were expected when he reached across the table for the toast.
Remy smacked his hand, saying, “Please and thank you, and no boarding house reach. What do you want?”
Sacks grumbled, “Toast.” Only to have Ducky announce, “If you can’t mind your manners, we’ll ask you to leave the table. Would you like to try that again?”
Realizing that he was expected to use the manners his grandmother had taught him, he cleared his throat and said, “Would someone pass me the toast, please?” He got toast passed, as well as an offer of more coffee. “No, thank you. I’m coffeed out.”
They finished eating and settled in for one last cup of coffee, in Ducky and Jimmy’s cases tea, and a quick exchange of information.
Ducky started it out with his autopsy findings, with Jimmy adding something every now and then. Ducky was convinced that the men had no relationship to each other, but was concerned about some odd calluses on their hands. He passed the baton to Jimmy on that.
Jimmy agreed that there were no obvious connections but admitted that he and Ducky were only ME’s and had probably missed something.
Tim frowned, “What sort of calluses are we talking about? Might be more to that than we think.”
Ducky nodded to Jimmy, who got up to retrieve some pictures. Gibbs glanced at Dean and Cosmo, then asked, “You guys mind clearing away?”
Remy just shrugged. “Support personnel, us. Got it.” He got up, motioning to Dean and Cosmo to come help. They were already moving, so it didn’t take them long to clear away the dirty dishes, platters, and whatnot. They left coffee cups; it was more than their life was worth to mess with the coffee.
Jimmy returned with the pictures of each victim, found the pictures of the calluses, and put them on the table. “Here, they all have the same calluses. I’ve seen this somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”
The pictures were passed from hand to hand until they came to Tim. He blinked at them, glanced at his hand then looked back at the pictures. He finally offered his hands to Ducky. “What do you see?”
Ducky examined Tim’s hands for a moment then exclaimed, “Oh, my. Those calluses are almost identical. What is going on?”
Tim showed his hands to Tony then Gibbs. “I bet anything that Dean, Cos, and AJ all have similar calluses, as well as trigger calluses and a few odd different ones. They’re gamers’ calluses.”
Gibbs frowned, then asked, “Okay ... so, they all have these calluses. What does that tell us?”
Sacks answered, “That gives us a possible connection. What if they were in the same game on the same guild? How would we find out about that?”
Tim snarled wordlessly. He fiddled with his tablet for a moment then said, “I have to get their computers out of evidence and see. I’m gone.” And with that he got up.
Sacks got up too. “I’m not that bad with a computer; need some help?”
Tim glanced at Fornell who said, “Go,” so they headed out to return to the Yard to see what they could figure out.
While they were gone, the rest of the group worked on other lines of investigation, only to be thwarted time and time again by the lack of cooperation from RenCo, especially their Public Relations Expert Giles LaRoquet. He was objecting to everything they did and interfering in their investigation every way he could. No one could figure out why. Gibbs offered, “Wonder what his financials look like?”
This was a constant irritant to Tim. He could run financials until he was blue in the face but, since there were so many banks, each with its own system, it took forever, and he usually had to run them more than once. If they were in the military, it was a bit easier to track what went in and out, if they had a service account. Some did, some didn’t. If they relied entirely on civilian banks, tracking their financial activities could be problematical. If it was a mix of civilian and service, it was a crap shoot.
.
If you have any ideas for a story in this verse, I'm interested. Not promising to get it done but I'll give it a poke or two. *G*
Chapter 5
Tobias Fornell hated Chicago. He hated the wild drivers, the messed-up streets, the ... everything. He grumbled, “Even the pizza doesn’t make up for this shit,” then he swore as he dodged a taxi. “Fucker drives worse than Ziva David ... and that’s sayin’ something.”
It took him nearly two hours to get to Great Lakes, and another twenty minutes to clear through the gates, which put it near 1100. He got directions to Gibbs’ quarters from the Shore Patrol who’d cleared him and drove through. It wasn’t long before he was parking in front of Gibbs’ Quonset-hut house. He eyed it for a moment, then grumbled, “And I bet it leaks when it rains.” He gathered up his files, USB stick, and tablet, stuffed them back into his briefcase, dragged his suitcase out of the trunk of the tiny car that was all he could get, then went up to knock on the door.
Gibbs opened it, eyed the briefcase and grunted. He stepped back then turned and ambled into the kitchen. Tobias sighed. One of these days Gibbs might learn some manners… maybe. Then he thought, “Nah, never.” He kicked his suitcase next to the couch, dumped his case on the coffee table, and started taking things out of it.
Tobias followed Gibbs into the kitchen, where he was putting together a huge cold-cut platter; the counter was covered with bowls of lettuce, pickles, mayo, ketchup, and several jars of different mustards.
“What the hell? Gibbs, we having a football team over?”
Gibbs chuckled then said, “No. You ever seen the Pod eat? Locusts leave more.”
Tobias looked blank until he figured out what, or who, the Pod was. “We having all of them over?”
“Yeah. Dean and Cosmo are learning the ropes; Remy’s fairly good already. Addin’ to their skill set.” Gibbs frowned, wondering where Dean, Cosmo, and Tim were.
“The others are coming in on a military transport. I refused the pleasure. I’ll bet anything they’re re-routed and on their way to Bum-fuck East Sticksville.” Tobias made a face; he hated military transport with a hot passion.
Gibbs nodded toward the door. “Looks like you lost that bet. Make yourself useful and put this on the bar.” He handed over a bowl of potato salad and another of slaw.
Dean, Cosmo, and Tim thundered in the door. Dean called, “We in the right place. An’ what the hell’s a damn Gunny doin’ here at Great Lakes anyway?”
Gibbs chuckled softly. “And the Thundering Herd arrives.” He eyed the milling group as they greeted each other with back slaps and insults… and a few manly hugs. “All right! Break it up! Bunch a’ girls. Come eat.”
Fornell got on his phone and obviously waited for whomever he was calling to answer; finally he barked, “Sacks! Where the hell are you? I gave you the address; get your butt here, now.”
He listened for a moment then replied, “I’ll send someone to get you then.” Gibbs raised an eyebrow in inquiry so he said, “Dumbass is lost.”
Gibbs pointed to Dean and said, “Cobra, go find the dipshit.”
Dean shrugged, wiped his hands on a napkin and said, “Well, where the hell is he?”
Fornell just handed him the phone, “Ask him yourself.”
It didn’t take Dean long to find out that Sacks evidently didn’t know East from West and was at the right number but the wrong end of the street. He barked, “Just fuckin’ stay there, I’ll come find your stupid ass.” He hung up the phone and tossed it to Tobias. “I’ll be back in ten.” He trotted out the door, jumped the steps, and disappeared down the street.
Ron Sacks was standing in front of a small duplex looking tired and worried. He had gotten his orders and immediately packed his things. He knew he was going to be moved to different housing- he couldn’t stay in a barracks by himself- so he had his duffel at his feet. He blinked at the black-clad SEAL that trotted up. “Sir?”
“Cale, Dean; Chief Warrant Officer. Fornell sent me to find you. Come on.” Dean didn’t bother to check to see if Sacks was following him, nor did he offer to carry anything. This left Sacks carrying his duffel and briefcase while jogging to keep up with Dean, who stretched his legs into a slow trot.
They were back at Gibbs’ Temp Quarters in fifteen minutes. As they entered, Tobias yelled, “You said ten! You’re late!”
Dean shrugged, took the sandwich out of his hand and said, “Can’t help it that your lady friend is slow.” He took a bite of the sandwich, grimaced, and dropped it on a plate. As he disassembled it to take out the tomatoes, he added, “Not too sure he’s gonna be much use for awhile.”
Meanwhile, Sacks was leaning against the door frame, panting like a bellows.
Tony eyed him then said, “And you think you’re in shape to chase down perps? Seriously?”
Remy handed him a folder and said, “Quit pickin’ on him and read this.”
Fornell made another sandwich while he explained what was going on to Sacks. He pointed, “Make a sandwich and read that.”
Sacks eyed the pile of folders as he assembled a satisfactory sandwich. “Man, what kind of mess is this?” He settled with his food and a drink.
The rest of the day was spent in reading folders, debating facts, having Tim run financials and searches and swearing.
Gibbs finally eyed his watch, announced, “It’s 1900. We’re not getting anywhere and I’m hungry.”
Tony frowned. “Pasta? or Pizza?”
Fornell frowned. “Not in the mood for pizza. What kind a’ pasta?”
Tony rummaged in the fridge and cabinets for a moment then said, “A la dump.”
“What?”
“Check the fridge and cabinets, dump it all in a pan and add pasta. So… mushrooms, some bacon, couple of cans of stewed tomatoes and frozen peas. Boss, you didn’t use these for a cold pack, did you?” Gibbs said that he hadn’t so the bag of peas got added to the pile. “There’s some ...” Tony eyed the something in a container then said, “Furry, and I think it winked at me.” He tossed the container to Remy, ordering, “Kill that, will you?” Remy took it out, container and all; the clang of the GI garbage can told its own tale. “Cherry tomatoes. Cream. Lot’s of Parm. And ... Jet, what the fuck are you doing with panchetta?”
“No idea what that even is.” Gibbs took off his glasses to eye the pile. “Ditch those tomatoes, they’re fuckin’ nasty. Really tasteless and salty.”
Tony put the cans back in the cabinet. “Okay. So, Pasta a la Putanesca.” He gave an exclamation of delight as he found some spinach in the crisper. “Spinach! Jet?”
“No idea on that either.”
Tony scribbled a list and gave it to Cosmo. “Go to the PX and get this.”
“On it.”
Sacks announced, in a smugly satisfied tone, “You’re not supposed to have subordinates run errands for you.”
Tony started to say something but Fornell beat him to it. “There’s rules like that for a reason and this is not it. Sit the fuck down and shut your cake hole. I’m hungry.”
Dean just said, “Orders that are mutually beneficial, like requests to procure food, clothing, or other sundries or necessities for a platoon or squad are exempt.” He eyed Sacks for a moment then added, “Jerk.”
Cosmo eyed him, said, “Do not be a dumbass,” then left to get the groceries.
Tony started his sauce, then set to cutting tomatoes in half. Sacks bit his lip, got a thump from Tobias, then offered, “I could show you how to do that a lot quicker.”
Tony nodded. “The old stick ‘em between two saucers thing? Sorry, good idea but no saucers, just cups.”
Sacks frowned. “And why cups but no saucers?”
Tony shrugged, “No idea. Who knows why the military does half the things it does?”
Sacks got up and offered to chop or slice or something. Tony eyed him for a moment then handed over the mushrooms. “Slice, please.”
“Should I wash them first?” Sacks eyed the two pint containers of mushrooms.
“No. Wipe the dirt off with a damp paper towel. If you get them really wet, like washing them, they’ll just steam and water out in the sauce. Make the slices fairly thick.” Tony returned to blanching the spinach.
Sacks frowned at Tobias, but did as he was asked. He carefully wiped the dirt off the stems of the mushrooms, then sliced them into thick slices. “You’re awfully competent in the kitchen for a rich kid.”
Tony eyed him but didn’t say much. Gibbs looked at Fornell, said, “Toby. Your turn.”
Fornell sighed, “Sorry, DiNozzo.” He grabbed Sacks and dragged him out the door. It didn’t take him long to disabuse Sacks of the last of his illusions about Tony. They returned, both of them looking slightly ill. Sacks returned to his work, and Tobias picked up the next file in his queue and settled to work his way through that one.
Tony didn’t say anything to Sacks when he came back, he just kept on cooking. He eyed the pot, wondering if there would be enough. He had two mouths extra to feed. The Pod ate enough for ten, plus Fornell and Sacks. He shook his head. “Just hope there’s going to be enough.”
Just then, Cosmo stuck his head in the door and yelled, “Bucket brigade. Come on.”
Everyone except Tony trotted out to form a line to hand the groceries in. Cosmo started pulling bags out of the back of the SUV they’d rented in Chicago. He found that, if everyone took two bags, they’d only have to make one trip each. He smugly strolled in empty handed and flopped down on the couch.
Dean flopped down next to him, elbowed him in the ribs and said, “Jerk.”
“Bitch. I shopped.” Cosmo pushed Dean off the couch. He landed on the floor with a yelp and a thump.
Gibbs didn’t even look up from the file he’d returned to. “Corners.”
Dean eyed Gibbs for a moment then said, “Oh, no. No corners.”
“Then settle down.” He tossed each of them a file. “See what you can find out about similarities in habits, mutual acquaintances, that sort of thing.”
Sacks blinked at that and said, “Corners?”
Gibbs heard him and explained, “If they don’t settle down when I tell ‘em, they have to stand in a corner for fifteen minutes. House rules.”
Sacks blinked, “Does that include you?”
“No, my house. And...” he eyed the two men. “I’m not a rowdy nutjob.”
Dean cheerfully flipped him a bird.
Sacks finished slicing the mushrooms then said, “I’ll set the table.” He rummaged the cupboards and found― nothing. “What the hell are we supposed to eat off?”
Gibbs looked up from the file he was rereading. “I don’t know. Go down to the mess and get something. I’ll call.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called someone who told him that they could have enough things to serve the group and to bring it back when they were done with it.
Remy and Sacks left with Sacks well aware that, if he got in anyone’s face for any reason, Fornell was going to eat him a new one.
Remy nodded. “You learnin’. See ... you got a’ idea in yo head an’ it stuck. Ya act on it, instead a’ thinkin’ things through.” He held up a hand when Sacks started to object. “I know ... they’ was evidence ... but the ting’ is ... you didn’t ‘low for personality or reputation. Learn a lot from dat. An’ you like a dog wit’ a rag. You get an idea an’ no logic or reasoning will move it.”
Sacks sighed. “Okay. I was wrong. But I’m more right than I am wrong.”
“But when you wrong and someone prove it ... you still doan listen. Dat make you stupid.” Remy frowned at Sacks then just turned and walked on.
Sacks hurried after him, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. Fornell had been telling him for years that he was wrong-headed, but he knew what he knew. Only ... it seemed that he didn’t.
Remy eyed him as he strode along beside him. “Yo’ got smoke comin’ out yo’ ears. Talk.”
“Well ... I’m ... stuck. I’m a good investigator but Fornell has been on my case since that debacle with DiNozzo. Not to mention the second one with that girl ... some undercover thing that came back to bite him ... last year? Anyway. I just don’t get it. Facts are facts.”
Remy took pity on him and pointed out, “You get thin’ backward. Oui, facts are facts ... but you try to make facts fit yo’ idea. Not make yo’ idea fit facts. And dat’s a problem. How many people are in prison right now because some hard charger took the facts they liked and made a case? More and more show up all de time. Yo’ doan wan’ be known fo’ bein’ that sort, but you are.”
Sacks swallowed; this pill was not only huge, but extremely bitter. He felt things click in his head for the first time ever. “Well, fuckin’ shit. Damn it.”
“Think with your heart as well as your head. Get all the facts, all of them. Then make your judgement on the facts. If you do it the other way around, you’ll always be wrong.” Remy nodded once then said, “We should a’ drove. We’re gonna have the devil of a time carrying all that shit we need.”
Ron just shrugged, still a bit stunned by his epiphany. “We’ll manage. Besides, that SUV is full of luggage.”
The sailors at the mess had already put together a box of dishes, flatware, and other things; including paper napkins. Remy accepted their salutes with easy confidence then gathered up the box of breakables; he nodded to the other one, “Grab that, will you?”
Sacks picked up the box and waited to find out what was next. That turned out to be one of the sailors offering, “Sir? I’m off duty now, and I’ve got room for you and this stuff. It’s not even out of my way.”
Remy grinned, “Thanks.” They stuffed the boxes into the trunk and got into the car. Remy took shotgun and Ron took backseat. It only took them five minutes to get back to the hut and a few seconds to unload. They sent the driver on his way with thanks and carried the boxes into the hut.
Gibbs nodded to Remy. “You two set the table, food’s about ready.”
Fornell glowered at Sacks who ducked his head and scurried to start setting the picnic table out back. Tony just left the pasta in the cook pot ―and why the hut had three big pots, no small ones and no dinnerware was a good question― and brought that to the table. There was also a huge salad, also in a pot. Dean brought out several odd-shaped foil packages, which he opened to reveal garlic bread.
Tony settled at the head of the table while Gibbs took the foot. That left one side to Tim, Cosmo, and Dean and the other to Fornell, Sacks, and Remy.
Gibbs took some pasta then passed the spoon to Fornell, he didn’t even think about passing the pot. A pot big enough to hold enough food to feed this group was way too heavy to pass. He used tongs to add a helping of salad then grabbed a heel of garlic bread. He loved the heels and Bogarted them when they were home, unless Ducky was there, then he left them for him.
Tony, seeing this, said, “There’s got to be a way to get more heels out of a loaf of bread. You leave the heels for Ducky.”
Sacks poked his pasta for a second then said, “Buy shorter loaves. There’s a really nice short loaf at DiCarlo’s Bakery. Just buy more loaves.” He looked up to see everyone staring at him. “What?”
Dean swatted Cosmo, exclaiming, “And why didn’t you think of that?”
Cosmo yelped in mock pain and returned, “Why didn’t you?”
Remy eyed them for a moment then ordered, “Settle. You knock the table over and Gibbs will have you on the mats. Jerks.”
Sacks eyed the two men while they argued over not much of anything. He’d seen teams with the FBI act in much the same way, very like siblings, arguing heatedly one minute, a closed unit the next. And God forbid that anyone get in between them.
Gibbs nodded once, “I will. And any of you other squids that decides to act up at table.”
Sacks also noticed the indulgent expression on DiNozzo’s face. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or smack someone.
Fornell couldn’t believe the change in his friend. Gibbs had always been shut off, stone-faced; now he was openly laughing at something Tim had said. He was glad his friend had finally opened up. He grabbed for the salad and got his hand slapped. “Hey!”
Gibbs pushed the pot his way. “Ask; don’t reach. Bread?”
Tobias took the offered bread and said, “If Emily had done that, I’d have swatted her one. Sorry.”
Gibbs just grunted around a mouth full of pasta and returned to listening to Tim.
Fornell nodded, poked Sacks, and snarled, “You got your shit straight?”
Ron couldn’t help but sigh before he replied, “I do. There’s things that I thought were ... well, Head up ass, over-heated brain that doesn’t work so well. I’m over it.” He poked the pasta for a moment then announced, “DiNozzo. Pasta is really good. Thanks for cooking for us.”
Tony eyed him for a moment then said, “Welcome.”
Remy beamed at Sacks and nodded to him.
It wasn’t long before Dean was threatening to lick the pot and Cosmo was mopping up the last of his sauce with a scrap of bread. Gibbs pointed to Dean and Sacks. “KP. Tim ... check those financial searches. Remy ... see what you can do to connect our victims. Tony ... connect all three of them to the missing guy if you can. Let’s go, people, daylight’s burnin’.”
They all got up and headed back inside to deal with their assignments. Fornell and Gibbs started working on getting the various jurisdictions to cooperate with NCIS or the FBI. It was a bit of slow going, as someone had already alienated them all by hard-charging their departments. Gibbs snarled, “And this is why I leave all this shit to AJ; he’s a people-person and can get the most ornery sheriff or chief to cooperate. Now what?”
Fornell agreed then nearly whined, “And whoever has pissed off RenCo, and they won’t even tell us what is missing, only that it’s highly classified and ‘need to know’, which we don’t. The only thing they are saying is that it’s on a stick thing and missing.”
Tony flipped through his notes then grumbled, “We seem to be getting cock-blocked by a guy named LaRoquet, Giles. He just doesn’t seem to care what’s going on. He keeps telling everyone ‘need to know’ or ‘not my pay grade’. I think we ought to drag him in and sweat him. Something about him smells, and it’s not his aftershave.”
They all realized that they needed to get back to DC, where all the murders, missing persons, and data were. This was not going to be fun. At least Tobias Fornell was sure it wasn’t going to be much fun; he hated military transport with a passion. As far as he was concerned, he’d rather travel by cattle truck.
Tony made a call, while Gibbs made another.
Everyone checked to make sure that they would have time to pack up whatever needed packing. Tim grumbled, “Go to Great Lakes, go back to DC. Hurry up and wait.”
Remy cheerfully replied, “Military fact of life. Check for earplugs, and we’ll just sleep.”
Dean grabbed his ruck, pulled out a box and waved it at Remy. “Right here. Got enough for everyone.”
Fornell mumbled, “Didn’t even have a chance to shower and change.”
Gibbs jerked a thumb in the direction of his bathroom. “Got at least an hour; go.”
Fornell snatched his dopp kit and a change of clothing out of his bag and hurried off. “Anyone else?”
Tim shrugged, “We had a spit bath, it’ll do. We can all clean up when we get home.” Dean and Cosmo refrained from comment, used to the military habit of shuffling people hither and yon without explanation only to send them in the opposite direction ten minutes later.
While Tobias was showering and changing, Tony and Remy went to their assigned quarters to clean and pack; the rest of the group cleaned up the Quonset. Gibbs easily packed his ruck and put it by the door on top of his gun case.
His phone rang just as Tony and Remy returned. “Gibbs.” He listened to the officer on the other end then said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He closed his phone turned around and barked, “We got wings. We need to be at the field in thirty, so move it.” He grabbed his stuff and hurried out.
Everyone scrambled to get to the SUV. Fornell announced, “There’s not enough room. What are we going to do?”
Tony scoffed, then pointed. “We’ll all fit. Come on.”
They put Tim behind the wheel; Tony took shotgun with Dean on his lap. Remy, Gibbs and Cosmo took the next seat and, since the third seat was down to hold all the luggage, Fornell and Sacks wound up in their laps.
They arrived at the airstrip, parked the SUV and hurried to board. The load officer didn’t look pleased but saluted them as a group, pointed and said, “I’ve set aside the forward seats for you as a group. If you’d like, you can put all your luggage in ...” He eyed Gibbs’ long gun case. “Or not.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of a cargo net hung from one wall and ambled off to cuss out a group of fresh fish who seemed to think they ruled the world. He disabused them of that idea loudly, with several profanities and appropriate gestures.
They put all the rucks and Fornell’s suitcase in the net, then put Gibbs’ rifle and Fornell’s briefcase under the seats.
As they settled in, Fornell grumbled, “They don’t even have proper seats.” He struggled to get comfortable in the lawn-chair-strap seat; it really didn’t work for him.
Tony took pity on him and handed him a blanket, showing him how to stuff it behind his back to reshape the seat. “You better put in earplugs.” Tony handed him a pack of disposable earplugs.
“Thanks, man. I ... um...”
Sacks tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to but Tony cut him off. “Forget it. We’re good.” Sacks shook his head; DiNozzo’s infinite ability to shake things off amazed him. He was seriously rethinking his attitude toward the man. He settled back in his seat, poked the blanket behind him into better position, stuffed the earplugs into his ears and went to sleep.
Tobias Fornell put in his earplugs as takeoff began. He knew he was not going to be comfortable, warm, or anything until they reached DC. He wondered how long the flight was going to take.
The loading officer finished the last of his paperwork and walked around a bit to check on his passengers. There weren’t that many in the hold, as it was so full of ‘real’ cargo, but the small passenger area was full of men. He glanced over them, checking to see that they were all properly seated. He could tell that four of them were some sort of SpecOps group, as they were all huddled together; you couldn’t touch one without alerting them all. Another group was comprised of an older, grey-headed man and a younger taffy-haired one; both looked lean and mean, possibly a HOG and his PIGlet. The last two men were a bit odd; the younger man was military, the older should have had civilian written on his face but they were slumped together, or the younger man was leaning on the older, who was tolerating it with a combination of irritation and amusement. LO Smith offered, “I could move him for you.”
Fornell shook his head, “No, he’s one of mine, it’s fine.”
“Okay. You need anything I can provide, just let me know.”
“I just want to get back to DC. How long, do you think?”
The loading officer eyed his tablet, a constantly updated flight record. “Um ... unless we get diverted, three hours. We should be in DC at about 0200, plus or minus. Don’t quote me on that, though.”
Fornell just said, “Thank you.” He poked Sacks into a more comfortable, for him, position and grumbled, “Damn it. Fly to Great Lakes, fly back to DC, wonder where we’ll go next. And not until I’ve had at least eight hours in a real bed, a hot shower, clean clothing, and a decent meal. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”
Someone offered from the dim back of the compartment, “We’re all too old for this shit, but we keep on doin’ it. All of us are crazy.”
Another voice offered, “Prime test for insanity ... keep doin’ the same stupid thing and expect different results.”
“Asshole.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
Gibbs and Tony barked, “Shut up, idjits.” at the same time then said, “Bread an’ butter.”
Fornell just groaned and leaned back to try to sleep.
.
Now, most military will tell you that there are gods, and there are Gods; it seemed that the Gods of Luck were smiling on the whole Pod as the plane wasn’t diverted. This meant that they arrived in DC at 0220, deplaned with speed, and were standing in front of the terminal by 0300. Gibbs whistled shrilly and gestured, resulting in a short bus pulling up to pick them up.
They piled in, luggage in hand. Gibbs left his duffel to someone else and took care of his rifle case. Tony was happy to deal for him. They got seated, gave the driver the address to Mallard Manor, and endured the drive. Fornell was a bit surprised to realize that he was staying there.
Emily was with her grandparents, so there was actually no reason for him to go to an empty house to shower, shave, and sleep. He realized that he was grateful.
Gibbs poked Sacks. “You’re stayin’ with me. Couch makes up into a bed.”
Ron started to say that he could just go home, then realized that he didn’t want to. “Thanks.”
This caused Dean to remark. “Jet, you know, you really need to finish that table.”
Gibbs grimaced. “I know. But it’s a bad luck piece. First I had to order the board feet and wait forever. Then, one of the boards had a piece of metal in it and ruined my plane blade, so I took it all back to be x-rayed. Turns out there was a bit of something in another board. I took the whole shipment back and had them reorder from someone else. I’m still waiting.”
Dean shook his head. “If they said it was x-rayed, why wasn’t it?”
“Lumber yard tried to save money on the boards to make a bigger profit. Didn’t work. I’m going to a different yard.”
The chatter died off then; everyone was tired and knew they had to get up early or they’d hear it from Vance, the SecNav, and who knew who else.
When they arrived at Mallard Manor, that group scrambled to sort out their luggage and get to the door. The driver waited patiently, politely making sure that his headlights were pointed at the door.
This turned out not to be necessary as Ducky came to the door as they approached it, Jimmy hovering behind his shoulder. A flick of a switch turned on the porch lights.
Tobias nodded to Ducky. “Doctor. Hope you don’t mind that Tony said I could crash here.”
Ducky stepped back, “I don’t mind at all, dear boy. Come in. Come in. Wipe your feet.” He eyed the sorry-looking group as he led the way. “Anything to eat?”
Tony took a quick visual vote, then spoke for all of them. “No thanks, Ducky. It’s too late at night. We’ll have something good tomorrow morning.”
They clattered up the stairs and went to their rooms. Ducky pointed, “Tobias, you’ll be there. There’s the loo. I’m there, and AJ is there.” He pointed to the various doors, then said, “Good night. Sleep well,” and went back to his bed, well aware that he had to be up at 0700, as did everyone else.
.
Gibbs gave his address to the driver, reassuring him, “I’ll pay the whole tab and collect from everyone else later.”
“Yes, sir. We’re about ...”
Gibbs interrupted the driver with a chuckle, “I’m well aware of how long it will take. Let’s put some wheels under this thing.”
The driver got behind the wheel and took off. It took them less than thirty minutes to get to GHQ; there was nearly no traffic to speak of.
When the driver pulled up in front of Gibbs’ place, he set the brakes and announced, “We’re here.”
Gibbs settled the bill with a yawn, giving the driver a good tip on top of the bill. “Take it easy going home. Good night.” He watched for a moment as Remy handed out luggage then held out his arms to accept his rifle case and duffel. “Let’s get inside, I’m beat.”
Remy also yawned, “Me too. I’m for jus’ dumpin’ all this in the livin’ room and sortin’ later.”
Gibbs, who hated things just dumped, was torn but finally agreed, “Okay. Just this once.” He pointed to the new, pull-out couch, “All the stuff is in it. Night.”
Ron pulled the couch into a bed, made it up, and tumbled in.
It only took a few minutes for everyone else to hit the rack; sleep soon followed.
.
It was a very grumpy group that woke to the ringing of the house phone. Gibbs dragged himself out of bed with the hand set pressed to his ear. “What!” he listened for a few moments then snarled, “We’ll all be in in an hour.” He got out of bed and hammered on doors, yelling, “Up! Up!”
Remy rolled out of bed, landing on his knees, groping for a weapon that wasn’t there. He woke completely and yelled, “Okay! Okay! What’s the panic?”
Gibbs was banging on Dean and Cosmo’s door, but he heard and replied, “We got the go from SecNav and FBI. I want us all at Mallard Manor in an hour. UP!”
Dean yelled, “We’re fuckin’ up, damn it. Stop tryin’ ta break the damn door down.”
Cosmo just grumbled incoherently from his position behind the bed. He was rummaging under it for his boots. “Damn jarhead. Noisy asshole.”
Meanwhile, at Mallard Manor, Ducky was doing much the same thing in his own rather British way. He just turned the sound system in the front lounge up as loud as it would go and played Reveille. The swearing was epic.
“Yes. Exactly so. Now, shower and get downstairs as quickly as you can. I have a feeling that we’ll be invaded soon and I want a proper brekkie started. Hurry along now.” Ducky didn’t bother to tell anyone that he was already up, dressed, and getting ready to make tea.
As he puttered in the kitchen, Ducky kept an ear out for the GHQ mob, as he called them. When he heard a knock on the door, he called, “Come on in, it’s open.”
Gibbs ambled in, followed by Dean, Remy, Cosmo, and Sacks. Tony trotted in a few seconds later followed by Jimmy and Tim. Fornell, it seemed, was still shaving.
Gibbs started to tell Tony something, but Ducky firmly interrupted him. “You’ll not start an all-day think tank on an empty stomach. Come cook, AJ.”
Tony grinned, “Full English?”
Ducky smiled benignly and said, “If you don’t mind, dear boy. I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
“Well, we can’t have that. Fornell?”
“Coffee, then I’m your man.”
Gibbs just headed for the coffee pot. “Duck. Need hot water?”
“No, I’ve already started the pot. It should be ready in a mo’.” Ducky had relaxed around the group enough that he indulged in some of the slang he’d grown up with. He could have them all in stitches with his use of Perlie slang or Cockney rhyming.
Ron looked up, “Tea? What kind?”
“For morning, Fortum and Mason Scottish Blend. Would you care for a cup?” His hopeful look made Ron smile and nod.
He accepted the cup Ducky offered him with a soft, “Thanks, Dr. Mallard.”
Ducky patted his shoulder and said, “Just call me Ducky. Everyone does so.”
Fornell took one look at the organized chaos that Ducky’s kitchen had turned into and decided to take the coward’s way out. “There coffee yet? I’m dyin’ here.”
Gibbs, realizing exactly what his long-time friend was up to, just handed him a mug and pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit by Ducky and keep out of the way.” He eyed Sacks for a second, “You too.” He then went back to supervising.
Fornell suddenly said, “Well, shit!”
Gibbs didn’t even look over at him; he just smirked and said, “Finally remembered your car.”
“I did, you asshole; why didn’t you remind me?” He began dialing his phone.
“Last time I reminded you of anything, you bit my head off.”
“Jerk, that was because you were reminding me that you told me not to marry Dianne.” He put the phone to his ear, then juggled back and forth as he worked his way through a phone tree to actually take care of the car. He finally hung up after one last press one for this, two for that, three for something else. “Damn it. Just once, I’d like to talk to a real, live, human person.”
Tim absently replied, “Well, just press zero and hold it. That usually works. If it doesn’t, press random numbers then wait. Someone’ll usually come online to tell you you’re doing it wrong and ask how to direct your call.”
Tobias snarled, “And you couldn’t tell me this sooner?”
Tim looked up from potato patrol and smirked slightly. “I could, but where would be the fun in that?”
Tony, meanwhile was orchestrating getting tomatoes grilled, real English-style bacon fried, eggs fried and poached, mushrooms fried, and beans heated. He stopped a minute and called, “Ducky. Where’s the pudding?”
Ducky laughed and told him where it was. Sacks poked Fornell and hissed, “Pudding? For breakfast?”
Ducky answered, “Not sweet pudding, Black Pudding and Suet Pudding. I like it.” He patted Sacks on the hand. “You don’t have to eat it.”
Sacks frowned then told him, “I’d give it a try. Never had it.”
Tobias shook his head. “I know your tastes, and you won’t like it.” He gave Ron a run-down of the ingredients which caused him to make a face. “Told you.”
“I’m sure it’s an acquired taste.”
Ducky agreed. “I’ve eaten it since I can remember. Love the stuff. How Tony manages to get it, I’ll never know; but it’s some of the best I’ve had in a long time.”
Gibbs replied to that comment with the surprising information that Tony made it himself.
Ducky frowned, “Now, how in the world does he manage to do that in secret?”
Tony overheard that and told him, “I don’t try to keep it a secret. It’s just that it stinks so much I try to do it early in the morning or late at night so the smell is gone by the time someone wants to eat.”
“Well, I do thank you very much, dear boy. I’m very grateful.” Ducky smiled benignly at all his ‘boys’.
It wasn’t long before Tim was finished with the potatoes and had them diced for cottage fries. He got a skillet and added butter; when the butter was melted, he added the potatoes and some chopped onion; salt and pepper followed that. He kept an eye on that, stirring it occasionally to keep it from burning.
Gibbs eyed the pan then asked Tony, “Who’s making toast?”
Tony pointed to Dean who was hovering over a four-slot toaster. “Dean. Tim, help Dean, will you? And don’t let those ‘taters burn.”
Tim poked Tony, saying, “One time. I swear.”
Tony snorted then went to check the tomatoes. Grilled tomatoes had to be watched like a hawk or they’d burn; tomatoes have a surprising amount of sugar in them.
Remy was stirring the beans to keep them from scorching; he gave them one last poke and said, “Beans are hot. Bowl?”
Tony checked the mushrooms, which were done. “Yeah, and the mushrooms. Take them on into the dining room. Okay?”
“Sure thing.”
“McGee?”
“Five minutes on the spuds. Toast?”
Dean answered, “Done. I’m takin’ it in.”
Tony deftly plated the tomatoes while asking, “Cos? Bacon?”
“Done and plated.”
“Eggs?”
Gibbs answered that. “Done and ...” he put the last of the poached eggs in little bowls. “Done.”
A quick check by both men led the last of the food to the table and everyone taking a seat.
Ducky nodded. “Looks excellent. Jet, if you would?”
Gibbs picked up the first platter, took a serving of bacon and passed it on. He quickly worked his way through the platters while Ron noted that the small bowls of poached eggs had made their way in front of Ducky, Jimmy, Tim, and Tony; he wondered why they called him AJ, so he asked.
Tony told his tale, ending, “So Jet was kind enough to let me change Dominic to Jethro. Pissed the old man off to no end.” He grinned.
Sacks nodded. “I see. Names are important in more ways than most people think. Pass the bacon please.”
They passed this and that, and Sacks learned that manners were expected when he reached across the table for the toast.
Remy smacked his hand, saying, “Please and thank you, and no boarding house reach. What do you want?”
Sacks grumbled, “Toast.” Only to have Ducky announce, “If you can’t mind your manners, we’ll ask you to leave the table. Would you like to try that again?”
Realizing that he was expected to use the manners his grandmother had taught him, he cleared his throat and said, “Would someone pass me the toast, please?” He got toast passed, as well as an offer of more coffee. “No, thank you. I’m coffeed out.”
They finished eating and settled in for one last cup of coffee, in Ducky and Jimmy’s cases tea, and a quick exchange of information.
Ducky started it out with his autopsy findings, with Jimmy adding something every now and then. Ducky was convinced that the men had no relationship to each other, but was concerned about some odd calluses on their hands. He passed the baton to Jimmy on that.
Jimmy agreed that there were no obvious connections but admitted that he and Ducky were only ME’s and had probably missed something.
Tim frowned, “What sort of calluses are we talking about? Might be more to that than we think.”
Ducky nodded to Jimmy, who got up to retrieve some pictures. Gibbs glanced at Dean and Cosmo, then asked, “You guys mind clearing away?”
Remy just shrugged. “Support personnel, us. Got it.” He got up, motioning to Dean and Cosmo to come help. They were already moving, so it didn’t take them long to clear away the dirty dishes, platters, and whatnot. They left coffee cups; it was more than their life was worth to mess with the coffee.
Jimmy returned with the pictures of each victim, found the pictures of the calluses, and put them on the table. “Here, they all have the same calluses. I’ve seen this somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”
The pictures were passed from hand to hand until they came to Tim. He blinked at them, glanced at his hand then looked back at the pictures. He finally offered his hands to Ducky. “What do you see?”
Ducky examined Tim’s hands for a moment then exclaimed, “Oh, my. Those calluses are almost identical. What is going on?”
Tim showed his hands to Tony then Gibbs. “I bet anything that Dean, Cos, and AJ all have similar calluses, as well as trigger calluses and a few odd different ones. They’re gamers’ calluses.”
Gibbs frowned, then asked, “Okay ... so, they all have these calluses. What does that tell us?”
Sacks answered, “That gives us a possible connection. What if they were in the same game on the same guild? How would we find out about that?”
Tim snarled wordlessly. He fiddled with his tablet for a moment then said, “I have to get their computers out of evidence and see. I’m gone.” And with that he got up.
Sacks got up too. “I’m not that bad with a computer; need some help?”
Tim glanced at Fornell who said, “Go,” so they headed out to return to the Yard to see what they could figure out.
While they were gone, the rest of the group worked on other lines of investigation, only to be thwarted time and time again by the lack of cooperation from RenCo, especially their Public Relations Expert Giles LaRoquet. He was objecting to everything they did and interfering in their investigation every way he could. No one could figure out why. Gibbs offered, “Wonder what his financials look like?”
This was a constant irritant to Tim. He could run financials until he was blue in the face but, since there were so many banks, each with its own system, it took forever, and he usually had to run them more than once. If they were in the military, it was a bit easier to track what went in and out, if they had a service account. Some did, some didn’t. If they relied entirely on civilian banks, tracking their financial activities could be problematical. If it was a mix of civilian and service, it was a crap shoot.
.