Dead Zone
New story.
I'm not keeping up with Dreamwidth/LJ very well, sorry about that.
Dead zones and drop-outs are a fact of life. Annoying and inconvenient; until they aren’t.
This was inspired by a picture that shows up on the net from time to time. A hand holding a cell phone that has the message ‘1:missedcall’ on it.
//whistle language//
One Missed Call.
Tony sighed; he hated being in a dead zone, and this one was a doozy. It wasn’t as though they wanted to track some jacked-up serial killer into the outback of nowhere, West Virginia, but he’d holed up out here, and even the local moonshiners wanted him gone.
The problem was the mountains and a lack of towers. The mountains were full of metal-rich rock, and the towers “skipped” the valleys. If you wanted signal, you had to be near or at the top of the mountains. He was, unfortunately, in a valley. He had that circle-and-slash symbol that meant he had no signal at all.
“Well, shit.” Tony stashed his phone in its pouch and got out the radio that the sheriff had given him. One look told him that it was out of range, too. He silently grumbled about the rules that said they couldn’t use military comms.
Remy hissed, “Shit?”
“SNAFU. No fuckin’ signal. We’re gonna have t’ do it the old way.” He grumbled about recon without comms.
The old way was interesting; Remy had learned the old way from his grandfather before he died. The language was used by the people around Aas in the Pyrenees mountains to communicate over long distances. Developed in the 1600’s, it was thought to have disappeared, but people who used variations of the same skill exist all over the world; France, Greece, and Spain were well known, but there were even some practitioners in the US. Remy and Tony had done research and developed one more combat-based. They used it when the radios were put out of commission, which wasn’t very often. But it usually saved their butts when the comms went out.
Tony thought for a moment, then whispered, “You do it. Tell Dean and Cos to flank the house, East and West. That’ll leave the sheriff and his deputy North. I wish we’d taken the time to teach Jet and Tim.”
Remy shrugged. “Too damn late now. Hate drop out an’ fuckin’ dead zone. Som’bitch.”
Remy used the knuckle method to whistle, so he stuck one bent finger in his mouth and whistled. //Cos, take East. Dean, take West. Tell Jet, North.// This short, whistled order told Cos to take his two assigned sheriff’s deputies to the east side of the cabin, Dean to take his two to the west, and Gibbs and Sheriff Daily to the north.
//Got it//
Tony glanced at his watch. “Time?”
“Give ‘em ten. An’ keep a fuckin’ eye on the door.”
Tony returned his attention to the front door of the shack, knowing the sheriff had said there was a back door. He, the sheriff, would have an eye on that door in a few moments, Tony hoped. Since he was accompanied by Gibbs, chances were more than good that he would.
Remy tapped Tony’s shoulder, then pointed. Dean had shown himself for a second, his group was almost in place. Tony scanned the area, looking for Cos. He spotted Gibbs instead; he knew Gibbs had shown himself on purpose so that they’d know his group was in place. A quick whistle told them that Cos and his group were also in place.
Someone somewhere must have had it in for them on this case. The perp had run like a rabbit and headed for his home town, probably to lay low with his mother. Unfortunately, she had gone back to West Virginia to settle her late husband’s father’s affairs and decided to stay. So their Seaman 3rd had followed her again and was now holed up in his grandfather’s hunting camp, much to Mom’s dismay. She wasn’t too pleased to find that her son had a habit of strangling lady Marines.
Tony looked toward the location of each of the other teams. He received a flash from a mirror from each of them indicating that they were in place. He yelled, “Go! Go! Go!” and ran for the front door. He hit it with a shoulder and blocked it as it bounced off the wall. Remy followed Tony and charged the suspect, who was sleeping off a drunk on the couch.
Remy pounced on him while the other three groups smashed in the back door, blocked the windows, and in general created chaos. Joe Barns woke up with Remy’s knee in his gut and Tony sitting on his feet.
Cos came in. “All clear?”
“All clear. Hook this fuckin’ jackwad up.” Tony nodded to their prisoner.
Dean tossed a pair of cuffs to one of the four deputies that had accompanied them. “Here, you do the honors.”
“Thank ‘e kindly, sir.” The deputy snatched the cuffs out of the air and proceeded to hook Joe up, in the unpleasant way that wasn’t fun.
They took a few moments to search the cabin thoroughly. Gibbs did point out, “Guys, Mrs. Barns isn’t gonna appreciate a damn mess. She’s wantin’ t’ sell this cracker box.”
Sheriff Daily nodded. “It’s nice, really. Compared to some, it’s a palace. I know one guy, made one out of a hog shed an’ a chicken coop. Still smells a bit on hot, damp days. So ... you guys take it easy or you’ll be cleanin’ up the mess.”
They dragged Joe out of the cabin and spent an hour listening to him whine, “I didn’t do nothin’. What’d I do? You can’t do this to me. I got my rights,” and similar shit. No one paid any attention to him except one deputy who kept telling him to shut up, not that that did much good.
The search revealed a cache of souvenirs; the man had been taking the ladies’ rank patches and one dog tag from each. He was also a stoner of epic proportions; he had a bag of pills, some coke, and a tip of some unidentified white powder that Tim said looked like a speedball. And when Tony said ‘bag’, he meant bag, not a small sandwich-sized bag as was usual; this guy had a quart freezer bag half-full of an assortment of pills that explained the break-ins at two local pharmacies. It was a wonder he hadn’t overdosed on a bad combination of drugs.
When they finished their search and had bagged and tagged their collection, Sheriff Daily informed them that their way out was by truck down a logging road. Their way in had been on foot. This caused Tim to snicker and Deputy Taylor to demand the story.
The truck turned out to be an old WWII troop transport that the sheriff’s office had gotten on the cheap. They piled in while Barns whined about his rights. Everyone settled in a seat and Deputy Hicks repeated the demand.
So Tim began in true military fashion. “So ... No shit, there we were...” The story kept everyone entertained until they hit the highway. Tim ended, “And so ... Jimmy had an epic bitch fit with Abby as Greek Chorus ... all I could do to keep from laughing in Vance’s damn face.”
Sheriff Daily laughed, and banged the top of the troop truck, which pulled over. “Ed, park near the back door. We’ll take Joe in, book him, do the paperwork, and hand him over. Should take about three hours.” He grinned at the questioning noise from Gibbs. “Jethro, we want him gone.” He turned back to the driver. “You take Gibbs and his team to Ruth’s place an’ get ‘em fed.”
Deputy Jones, Ed, nodded, “Okay, should I wait?”
“An’ how are they gonna get back if you don’t?” The Sheriff climbed back into the truck, shaking his head. Another bang on the top saw them back on the highway.
It wasn’t long before they were at Ruth’s place, which turned out to be a small truck stop near Stony Bottom, a small town strung out along state route #1. The Sheriff’s Station was out in the county and not really near much of anything.
The stop was small, but clean and neat, with the parking lot trash-free and the building newly painted. They piled out, but Gibbs stopped them. “Rack ‘em.” They all put their assault rifles into a lockbox bolted to the cab, then jumped down to head for the door.
The bell over the door let out a cheery jingle as they entered. A voice from the kitchen called, “Set where ya want, Annamarie’ll be out in a sec.”
Tony just took a place at a double table near the kitchen; he raised an eyebrow and got nods from Tim, Gibbs, and Cos. Dean didn’t care where they sat; neither did Remy.
Deputy Jones wasn’t consulted; he’d sit where they wanted.
A girl wearing a nametag and a pretty, lace-bordered apron came out and said, “My name is Annamarie and I’ll be your server today. Would you like water and coffee right away?” She gave them a funny look and smiled a bit hesitantly.
Ed eyed her, then snarked, “Mighty fancy for around here. What’s with all that?” he waved a hand at her apron.
“I’m practicin’ for when I go to college. I’m gettin’ a job at a place there and they’re fancy. So stick a sock in it.” She swatted him on the shoulder and glowered, then turned to Tony with a sickly sweet smile. “Sorry about that; boy’s brain-damaged, I swear. I’ll bring menus when I bring drinks. Okay?” She turned back, exclaiming, “Well, darn! I forgot ... the special of the day is chicken fried steak with cream gravy, peas or green beans, rolls, salad with choice of House, Thousand Island, or Ranch dressing, and pie or cake; drink included.”
Meanwhile, Ed was quietly snickering. Finally he said, “You can’t swat the customers ... or let ‘em get you flustered. I’ll have the special, sweet tea, ranch, pie. An’ I’m tellin’ Mama ya smacked me.”
Annamarie snorted, “An’ Aunt Connie’ll tell you t’ stuff it. You got the manners of a junkyard dog.”
Gibbs gave the deputy a sharp look then eyeballed the table. “I don’t think we need a menu. Looks like everyone wants the special. I’ll have coffee, peas, Ranch and apple pie.”
She scribbled in her pad then turned to Dean. “Next.” She made her way around the table, taking each order with a slight smile. “Okay. I’ll have your drinks out in a sec.” She frowned at her notes.
Cos watched, then asked, “Something wrong?”
“Not really. Just ... I never can keep the orders straight. And everyone has ordered the same thing except for dressing and dessert.”
Cos chuckled kindly. “Always start at the same place at the table and number the orders. So ... oriented from the front door ... I’m in seat six. Head of table ...” he pointed, “number one, and clock-wise around. You’ll get so you don’t have to write it down, you’ll just remember.”
“Well, now, aren’t you the smart one. Thank you.” She scurried off with her pad to turn in the orders.
She returned in a few minutes with the drinks and water all balanced on a huge tray, which she was trying not to tip. She managed well enough that she got the tray on the folding base without making a mess. “Okay, now, I’ll just ...” she looked at the table with a slight frown. “Yeah, Here we go.” She put drinks on the table, then returned to the tray to pour water into the glasses from a pitcher and get them on the table. “There. I get it right?”
“You did.” Tony flashed one of his high powered smiles which made Annamarie flush with pleasure. “Good job. So ... what are you majoring in?”
“Culinary arts with a minor in catering.”
Tony started to say something else, but the slap-bell rang, so Annamarie hurried to the pass to get their salads. She returned and managed to get most of the salads to the right people. It didn’t hurt that the dressing was in tiny cups instead of on the salad. The two she got wrong just exchanged cups and went on.
Gibbs called the table to order as they’d gotten a bit rowdy. “Okay, okay. You numbnuts settle down. We’ll finish lunch, then go back to the motel to shower and change. I’m sure Deputy Jones won’t mind.”
Ed shook his head. “I’d love to ditch all this stuff but it has to go back to the station.”
That was when the Pod realized that they were still in their armor, which explained the odd look Annamarie had given them. Dean shrugged, “I guess we’re used to it. It’s not the weight that’s a fuckin’ problem, it’s the damn heat.”
Ed agreed. “Probably ... and the fact that you’re more used to wearing it. I’ve only worn mine in training.” He poked at his salad. “I’m more used to domestic disputes, drunks, and smart-ass kids.”
Cos shrugged. “You’re doin’ damn good. Don’t forget, without you and your fellow deputies, the county would be full of battered spouses, idiot drunk drivers, and kids in real trouble.”
Ed nodded. “I know. I like my job, just ... sometimes it’d be nice to get a bit more recognition.”
Annamarie popped up just then. “I know. It’s just awful. But, what with things an’ stuff, most people don’t think. Well, free coffee on me. Just because.”
Ed started to say something but Tim nudged him. “Huh?”
“Let her. It’s as much for her as it is for you.”
“Oh, okay.” Ed thought about that. “But it’s a gratuity.”
Tony looked disgusted, “It’s a cup of fuckin’ coffee. Let ‘em do something nice for you. Public relations.”
Ed nodded. “Somethin’ t’ think about.”
They finished their salads just as the slap-bell rang again. Annamarie brought a huge tray to the table and plopped it down on the support. “Well, here we are. I hope you like it.” She began to put out the plates, saying, “Since there’s so many of you and you all have to be big eaters, Charlie just did the sides family style. Hope that’s ok.”
She finished putting down the plates, smiled and went away.
The steaks were cube steak which had been dipped in flour then buttermilk, flour again then batter made with flour, egg, baking powder, baking soda, and buttermilk. They were deep-fried to a golden crispness. The peas and green beans were obviously frozen, but had been prepared with care; a bit of garlic powder, salt, and pepper made a real difference. The peas also had mint, while the green beans had bacon. The rolls were light and fluffy with a distinct yeasty flavor.
Dean and Remy held a quick head-to-head convo, which resulted in Remy heading for the kitchen to try to worm the recipe for the rolls and peas out of the chef. It turned out that the man was very flattered that “foreigners” wanted his recipes. He said, “You go on an’ enjoy your food. I’ll write them up and have them for you when you settle up.”
“Thanks, man, I really appreciate that. So good.” Remy smiled that gentle smile that made every woman who saw it melt. He ambled back to the table. “Got the recipes. They’ll be at the register for us when we pay.”
Tony grinned. “Great. I’ve been looking for a good soft-roll recipe. None of the ones I have are really what I wanted. This is.”
Annamarie returned to the table one last time, bearing pie and cake. “Here we go. Let me see if I got it right.” She started handing around pie and cake. Gibbs got apple, Dean and Remy both got peach, Tim had chocolate cake, while Tony and Cos got spice cake with burnt sugar icing.
One bite of the spice cake had Tony groaning in pleasure. “Oh, man. I wish Jimmy was here, he’d fuckin’ love this.”
Tim nodded. “Ducky would too. But Abby doesn’t like cinnamon that much. She’d love the icing though.”
Remy pointed with his fork. “True dat. But she love peach anyt’in’.”
It only took a few more minutes for them to finish their desserts and head for the register.
Tony turned on his most brilliant smile. “I’d love the recipe for that spice cake. Please?”
Annamarie snorted, “I’ll ask. He’ll probably give it. Since you don’t live around here.” She turned and yelled, “Charlie! Write up the spice cake!”
Charlie yelled back. “I figured as much. Seein’ as how they moaned like they was havin’ really good ... I’ll be done in a sec.”
Dean snickered as Charlie cut off what he was obviously going to say.
Tim poked him. “Jerk.”
“ ’s funny. Bitch.” Dean poked him back.
They shoved back and forth, tripping each other and laughing until Gibbs called them to order. “Okay, you two settle the fuck down before you break something.” Gibbs turned back to pay their bill and collect the three recipes; these he tucked into his wallet. “Thank you. The food was good. The recipes will be much appreciated by everyone. Good-bye.”
They all piled back into the truck and left for the station. They’d decided that no one stank enough to need a shower yet. They’d just take off their armor and leave it in the truck.
When they reached the station, Deputy Jones was a bit surprised to find that all his passengers were sleeping. It was a good thing he knew better than to shake someone. He woke Tim by tossing pebbles at his feet until he woke up.
“Huh? Wha? Oh, hey. I’m up.” Tim’s reaction woke the rest and they all scrambled out of the truck, dumping their armor as they got off.
The Desk Sergeant nodded to them and pointed into the back. “Back there. Got him booked in and did the dirty. His advocate is with him, beginning the extradition process. Be glad when you get that big girl out a’ here. Makes my teeth itch.”
Gibbs took the clipboard with the check-in info on it and started to read.
Tony sighed. “I ... well, I don’t think we’ll get to take him with us. If I know anything about advocacy, they’re gonna try t’ have him kept here until someone actually charges him with something.”
They started for the back, but a young, enthusiastic greenie stopped them. “Sorry ... sirs, you’ll have to be ... um ... searched for ... contraband.”
Sheriff Daily started to say something but Tony just winked at him and grinned. “Okay, son, you wanna get a bin?”
“Sure. But you could just put your stuff on the counter. It’ll be safe right there, an’ I’ll keep a personal eye on it.” He looked hopeful.
Gibbs just shrugged. “I’d advise bins, but on your head be it.” He pulled his Sig out of his thigh holster and put it on the counter, then he pulled his left pants leg up, grumbling about having to retuck it and put the Chiappa Rhino 20ds .357 beside the Sig. Then he ripped the velcro straps of his tac-vest open, pulled out a K-Bar and added it to the pistols. He also put a Stinger down. After standing for a moment he said, “That’s it.” He stepped back to retuck his pants leg
Remy stepped forward next and turned over his issue Sig, a handful of throwing knives, a K-Bar and a lump of C-4, then took a detonator and box out of another pocket. The deputy began to look uncomfortable.
Dean also turned over a Sig; but he added three wire snares, a garrote, an Omersub Cryot Dagger Knife in an aftermarket sheath and a match safe. He pointed to the knife. “Diver’s knife.” The deputy said, “Ah.”
Cos was under-armed with just his Sig and a K-Bar.
Tim was a bit surprising, with his mild demeanor and round face. No one expected to see a Sig, a Charter Arms Under Cover Light .38P+, a cam-loaded folding knife, and a flash drive. The deputy was beginning to look decidedly nervous, while Sheriff Daily and a couple of the older deputies were holding back laughter.
Tony was last, but had to wait as Deputy Kluger was putting everyone’s stuff into bins. When it was his turn, he grinned as he unloaded. First was a .45 Glock G41Gen4 Semi-Auto; its thick grip, which accommodated a 16-shot-capacity mag, gave Tony no trouble, but made the deputy gulp. Then he handed over his NCIS-issue Sig and an extra two mags for each pistol. This was followed by a K-Bar and a cam-loaded folder. He patted himself down and produced a wad of C4, several detonators, and a power box. A garrote and some snares were added to the pile. Another quick pat-down had him shaking his head, “Damn it, I know I’ve forgotten something. Or ... maybe not. Some of my stuff is in my ruck ... I think.”
Even Gibbs stared, “Jesus Christ, Badger, can you say overkill?”
Tony held his hand up with thumb and forefinger about an eighth of an inch apart. “Just a bit? Maybe.”
Surprisingly, it was Tim who said, “No such thing. There’s only open fire, and reload.”
Deputy Kluger, who was now pale as skim milk, pointed with a shaking hand to a heavy steel door. “Through there.” He keyed the door from his station and it buzzed as it opened for the Pod.
“Thanks, kid. Keep an eye on our stuff. Oh ... and that wad of Play-Doh you’re kneading? That’s C4.” The deputy dropped it like it was hot. “But don’t worry. It won’t explode without a lot of help. You could even smack it with a hammer and it’d just flatten out.”
Deputy Maxwell snorted. “Do not give that greenie ideas. Boy could break an anvil.”
Deputy Kluger exclaimed, “It was an accident!”
This got laugher from the office and wide-eyed looks from most of the Pod. Gibbs just shook his head and pushed Tim through the door. “Go.”
Tim got through the door and out of the way, snickering all the while. “AJ, you’re evil.”
“I know. I’d hang my head in shame but ... seriously? Gave my last fuck in my first deployment.” Tony grinned and got out of Gibbs’ way.
They clattered down the hall and into a conference room with one chair bolted to the floor. It wasn’t long before they were joined by Joe Barns and his advocate, read lawyer, who was named Buck Evans. “Well, gentlemen, it seems we have a problem.”
Gibbs just rolled his eyes. “I’ll make a call. You do have a choice. Deal with me ... or deal with JAG. Your client has left a damn string of murdered lady Marines from Maine to Virginia. We’re still not sure of the number yet. One of the things we wanted to discuss with him,” he jerked a thumb at Barns.
“We’ll see about that after you show me some proof of your accusations.”
Tony took his phone out of his pocket and said, “I’ll send you the unclassified files. But some of it is actually need to know ... and you don’t.”
Mr. Evans looked displeased at that, but handed his phone to Tony. Tony fiddled for a moment, then handed it back. “Might want to transfer all that to a tablet; your screen is a bit small.” Mr Evans just took a 12.9” iPad Pro from his briefcase and transferred the files. He started looking through them and flinched as Tim pulled some of his computer magic and used his phone to pull up the pictures of some of the victims. “Oh, my lord.” Mr. Evans dropped the pad and rushed for the door.
Tim smirked at Barns and tucked his phone into a pocket.
Joe Barns snarled, “What did you do, you little fucker?”
“Nothing you need to know about, asshole.”
Mr. Evans returned and sat down after moving his chair as far away from Barns as he could get and still stay on his side of the table. “Much as I am disgusted by ... that,” he pointed to his iPad, “I still have a job to do.”
Gibbs just shrugged. “Just make sure all the damn t’s are crossed and i’s dotted and we’ll get along fine. We don’t necessarily want to be cooped up with ... him all the way back to DC. My take on this is simple. We leave him in your custody, and you fuckin’ transport him when it’s time.” Gibbs knew this was going to blow up in Evans’ face; the county was poor and really didn’t have the resources in money or officers to do this. It was around three hundred and twenty-some-odd miles, would take five plus hours, one way, not counting stops; and tie up a vehicle and two officers. Not to mention the gas and overtime.
Gibbs glanced at Tony then Tim. “We ready?”
Tim just stood up, followed by Tony who said, “Oscar Mike.”
Gibbs looked at Barns then smiled that smile that made sharks sweat. “By the way, count your damn lucky stars that you didn’t fuck with us. SEALs take no prisoners ... neither do Marine Scout Snipers. Jackwad.”
They returned to the outside conference room to wait, collecting their weapons on the way. Deputy Kluger offered to go into town and get pastries but Gibbs turned him down, saying, “Thanks, but we’re out of here in an hour. We’ll go back to the motel, clean up, gas the hummer, and be on our way by ... 1600 ... on the dot. Have ‘im ready or ... fuck this shit.”
Sheriff Daily nodded. “Gotcha. I’ll see what I can do about building a fire under someone.”
Another deputy was assigned to drive them back to their motel as Deputy Jones had gone off duty while they were busy with Barns. While they were on the road, Tim tried to call Abby. “Damn it. Fuck this shit. I’ve got one damn bar. Abby’s gonna have fits. I’ll try again at the motel.”
Cos shook his head. “No go. Remember? Gibbs tried to call Vance and had to use the damn landline.”
“Right. I hate fuckin’ dead zones. I’ll be glad to get back to civilization and no damn dead zones. Shit.” Tim shoved his phone back into its pocket, grumbling.
Dean scowled. “Someone is gonna have t’ call Vance an’ tell ‘im what’s goin’ on, get new orders. Seriously, I’m not lookin’ forward t’ takin’ that fuckin’ jackwad back t’ DC with us. Can you imagine five damn hours in a vehicle with that whinin’ come-stain?
Remy swore in French then said, “Not doin’ it. No damn way. Let the Federal Marshals take care of it.”
Gibbs thought about that for a few minutes while the rest of the Pod indulged in the ancient military pastime of bitching. “Shut up. We’re gonna make a fuckin’ run for it. Fuck this shit. Vance can make the damn arrangements. We did our due, turn the rest over to JAG and fuck it, let them deal. We can shower and be out of town in an hour, easy. Make sure you get all your damn gear. Wouldn’t do to leave a fuckin’ expensive issue behind.”
When they arrived at the motel, Gibbs thanked their driver and told him to tell the sheriff that they were going to be out of town in less than an hour. He, the sheriff, was now responsible for all arrangements to get Barns wherever JAG said he should be. He, Gibbs, would call Vance and start arrangements to get them in touch with JAG and the Federal Marshals, who were now in charge of this whole shootin’ match and Charlie Foxtrot. The deputy just grinned, nodded, and drove away.
“Well, he was easy.”
Gibbs frowned for a moment, “I’m not sure he even understood what I was sayin’.” He shrugged, “Fuck it. Shower.”
Since they had three rooms they split up to their quarters to shower and change. While Tim showered, Gibbs called Vance. “Leon. We got him. He’s a real sad sack and a loser. So ... we’re leaving him in custody here. Up to you to get ‘em where he needs t’ go.”
“All right. Reports on my desk, ASAP. I’ll call JAG and get things started.”
“You do that, Leon. We’ll be back in DC in ... about seven hours. We’re gonna loaf it an’ take our time. Stop for a meal, that sort of thing.”
“I’ll see you then, Jethro. Tomorrow by 1000. Reports due by 1200.”
“Okay.” Gibbs hung up the phone without more comment.
Leon eyed the phone with some disfavor. “Would it fuckin’ kill ya t’ say good-bye? Jerk.”
.
It wasn’t long before they were all showered and dressed again. It seemed that the old saw that people who lived together got more and more alike as time went on was true. Everyone had dressed in some version of jeans, t-shirt, flannel, boots, and holdouts. It was a bit warm for flannel shirts, but everyone wore one, unbuttoned, as the reason was to cover their shoulder holsters. Their pants were untucked to allow easy access to whatever holdout they considered useful.
Gibbs held out the can, rattling the chips, “Come on, let’s get this show on the road. Pick your seat and suck it up if you don’t like it. No damn do-overs. I want out of this CATFU dead zone ASAP.”
So everyone took a chip and settled in the seat they’d drawn; everyone had to admit that Jimmy’s idea had paid off in spades. No one complained if they didn’t like the seat they’d drawn; a bit of cursing fate, some generalized bitching, but no real complaining.
They were on the road exactly one hour after arriving at the motel. Tony and Tim both kept checking their phones for bars and the swearing was epic as they continuously fluctuated from one to three bars but couldn’t keep three bars long enough to make a call.
Tim finally advised, “We should just give it up until we’re out of the mountains. We’re okay until we drop into a valley. I’m goin’ t’ sleep.” And with that, he settled back to take a nap.
They drove for three hours, then stopped at a truck stop. The hummer needed gas, and they needed the head as well as food and drink.
They trooped into the quick-mart to get snacks and drinks, leaving the Hummer to an attendant; this was one of the few remaining places which provided them.
They wandered the aisles for a few minutes; then the attendant came in, hunting for Tony. “Excuse me, sir. I need you to move your vehicle to the pumps. You’ve parked too far from the pump, and I’m not allowed to move it.”
Tony followed the kid out to move the huge thing to the pump. He pocketed his key and returned to his search for the perfect snack. He was working on a decision between beef jerky and a snack stick when the attendant came back in, this time with a very frightened look.
“Sir! I stopped the fill. There’s got to be a leak somewhere in the system. I’ve put nearly forty gallons in and it was still going.”
Tony dropped both the jerky and the stick into his basket before saying, “It’s okay. I put in two fifty-gallon aftermarket tanks Just check to make sure the feed switched over.”
The kid gulped and whispered, “A hundred gallons of diesel? Holy shit.”
Dean made the kid jump when he said, “Yeah. Ran out of juice in the field once too often.”
“Um ... Do I dare ask?” The kid looked even more nervous.
“Might not be that good an idea ... depends on how strong your stomach is.” Tony eyed a bag of pretzels but decided against it.
“Oh. No ... I’m not askin’. When a guy looks like you and says somethin’ like that? I’m leavin’ it alone. I’ll finish fueling.” The kid scurried away, red-faced.
Dean shook his head. “You shouldn’t scare the kiddies.”
Tony just snorted and wandered on. He was tired; he’d been up at 0500 and going since; not that the others hadn’t, but he was driving and not looking forward to another three hours on the highway with, a possible hour in crappy DC traffic on top.
Gibbs ambled over with a package of chips and a candy bar; he dropped them in Tony’s basket. “Keys.” Tony didn’t protest; he just fished the keys out of his pocket and dropped them in Gibbs’ outstretched hand. He tucked the keys into his pocket, said, “Coffee,” and walked off.
Tony shook his head. “Functional mute.”
“He is that. But only when he’s flamin’ pissed.”
Remy watched Gibbs for a moment, “Wonder what the fuck’s got ‘im pissed.”
Cos, who was trying to call Belt, said, “Probably the lack of a fuckin’ signal. I got one damn bar. Hate this area.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and walked off, grumbling about dead zones and how he wasn’t ever going anywhere there was no service again. Ever.
Tony nodded. “What he said.”
They paid for their drinks and snacks, then everyone except Tony left. Tony stayed to pay for the fuel. The checker punched up his pump then blinked. “Eighty-six gallons? Sir?”
“Sounds about right.” Tony handed the lady his credit card. “Ring it up.”
She scanned the snacks from his basket then said, “Two hundred fourteen dollars and seventy-one cents.”
Tony swiped his card and waited while it validated. The machine beeped, the checker punched a button, then waited while his receipt printed. “Here you go, sir. Have a nice day.”
“Thanks. You too. Bye.” Tony put the receipt in his wallet, picked up his bag and ambled out the door.
It wasn’t long before they were back on the road, with Gibbs behind the wheel and Tony riding shotgun, sound asleep with his feet on the dash. Gibbs had finally slowed his driving style. He’d found that one of the reasons everyone objected to his style so much was, he drove like there was an IED every foot, it brought on flashbacks and messed with all the SEALs. Tim had admitted that he always felt like they were an inch from crashing, and he was always a nervous wreck when they got where they were going.
Gibbs finished the drive in good, but not record, time and pulled into his drive near 1600. He got out, then slammed the door, effectively waking everyone up. Dean and Cos scrambled to get out, grab their stuff, and head for the door. Remy took his time, saying good night to Tony and Tim.
Tony grumbled a bit, trying to wake up, then took the wheel. Tim waved to the GHQ group who stood on the porch to watch them leave.
The half hour drive to Mallard Manor was accomplished in near silence as Tim texted Abby to let her know they were back, and Jimmy and Ducky to let them know, as well as asking if they needed anything from the stores. Jimmy texted back that they didn’t, and Abby just sent, “K,” to let them know she got the text.
Ducky and Jimmy greeted them at the door, grabbing bags and chatting cheerfully. Jimmy grumped, “I don’t know where you were exactly but don’t go there again. We were worried when no one answered our calls and texts until Director Vance told us you were in a dead zone. Supper as soon as you’re cleaned up.”
Tim sighed. “Great. And my phone is blown up with all the texts and missed calls. I’ll have to clear it tomorrow.”
Tony moaned, “Oh man. I just hope I didn’t miss something from Belt. I do not want a GOMAR.”
Ducky reassured him, saying, “My dear boy. No one can hold you responsible for being in a dead zone while doing your duty.”
“Yeah? I hope.”
It turned out that their CO was only pissed that they’d been in a dead zone and therefore unable to call for assistance if they needed it. Tony remarked rather mildly, “Well, if four SEALs and a damn Marine Scout Sniper need fuckin assistance t’ pick up some waste of space, I’m worried.”
Belt just snorted and said, “True. Too true.”
Tony hung up. “Well, thank Thor.” He eyed his phone. “Wonder if there’s some way to deal with dead zones?”
Tim shook his head. “If you can figure that out, you’ll be rich.”
They settled at the table to eat. Tim and Tony were happy to find that Jimmy had made his beef and barley stew, and Ducky had made rolls. They ate quietly, then headed for bed. Tony even said, “I bet I get a good five hours.”
Ducky, who’d run ETKM on Tony to make sure that he wasn’t suffering from some sort of tumor or something, nodded, “I hope so. I know you don’t seem to be sleep-deprived, but I still find it worrisome.”
“Don’t worry, Ducky; if I feel off, I’ll let you know.”
They separated to their own rooms and went to bed. Tony muttered, “Good night, guys.” and was out like the proverbial light.
.
I'm not keeping up with Dreamwidth/LJ very well, sorry about that.
Dead zones and drop-outs are a fact of life. Annoying and inconvenient; until they aren’t.
This was inspired by a picture that shows up on the net from time to time. A hand holding a cell phone that has the message ‘1:missedcall’ on it.
//whistle language//
One Missed Call.
Tony sighed; he hated being in a dead zone, and this one was a doozy. It wasn’t as though they wanted to track some jacked-up serial killer into the outback of nowhere, West Virginia, but he’d holed up out here, and even the local moonshiners wanted him gone.
The problem was the mountains and a lack of towers. The mountains were full of metal-rich rock, and the towers “skipped” the valleys. If you wanted signal, you had to be near or at the top of the mountains. He was, unfortunately, in a valley. He had that circle-and-slash symbol that meant he had no signal at all.
“Well, shit.” Tony stashed his phone in its pouch and got out the radio that the sheriff had given him. One look told him that it was out of range, too. He silently grumbled about the rules that said they couldn’t use military comms.
Remy hissed, “Shit?”
“SNAFU. No fuckin’ signal. We’re gonna have t’ do it the old way.” He grumbled about recon without comms.
The old way was interesting; Remy had learned the old way from his grandfather before he died. The language was used by the people around Aas in the Pyrenees mountains to communicate over long distances. Developed in the 1600’s, it was thought to have disappeared, but people who used variations of the same skill exist all over the world; France, Greece, and Spain were well known, but there were even some practitioners in the US. Remy and Tony had done research and developed one more combat-based. They used it when the radios were put out of commission, which wasn’t very often. But it usually saved their butts when the comms went out.
Tony thought for a moment, then whispered, “You do it. Tell Dean and Cos to flank the house, East and West. That’ll leave the sheriff and his deputy North. I wish we’d taken the time to teach Jet and Tim.”
Remy shrugged. “Too damn late now. Hate drop out an’ fuckin’ dead zone. Som’bitch.”
Remy used the knuckle method to whistle, so he stuck one bent finger in his mouth and whistled. //Cos, take East. Dean, take West. Tell Jet, North.// This short, whistled order told Cos to take his two assigned sheriff’s deputies to the east side of the cabin, Dean to take his two to the west, and Gibbs and Sheriff Daily to the north.
//Got it//
Tony glanced at his watch. “Time?”
“Give ‘em ten. An’ keep a fuckin’ eye on the door.”
Tony returned his attention to the front door of the shack, knowing the sheriff had said there was a back door. He, the sheriff, would have an eye on that door in a few moments, Tony hoped. Since he was accompanied by Gibbs, chances were more than good that he would.
Remy tapped Tony’s shoulder, then pointed. Dean had shown himself for a second, his group was almost in place. Tony scanned the area, looking for Cos. He spotted Gibbs instead; he knew Gibbs had shown himself on purpose so that they’d know his group was in place. A quick whistle told them that Cos and his group were also in place.
Someone somewhere must have had it in for them on this case. The perp had run like a rabbit and headed for his home town, probably to lay low with his mother. Unfortunately, she had gone back to West Virginia to settle her late husband’s father’s affairs and decided to stay. So their Seaman 3rd had followed her again and was now holed up in his grandfather’s hunting camp, much to Mom’s dismay. She wasn’t too pleased to find that her son had a habit of strangling lady Marines.
Tony looked toward the location of each of the other teams. He received a flash from a mirror from each of them indicating that they were in place. He yelled, “Go! Go! Go!” and ran for the front door. He hit it with a shoulder and blocked it as it bounced off the wall. Remy followed Tony and charged the suspect, who was sleeping off a drunk on the couch.
Remy pounced on him while the other three groups smashed in the back door, blocked the windows, and in general created chaos. Joe Barns woke up with Remy’s knee in his gut and Tony sitting on his feet.
Cos came in. “All clear?”
“All clear. Hook this fuckin’ jackwad up.” Tony nodded to their prisoner.
Dean tossed a pair of cuffs to one of the four deputies that had accompanied them. “Here, you do the honors.”
“Thank ‘e kindly, sir.” The deputy snatched the cuffs out of the air and proceeded to hook Joe up, in the unpleasant way that wasn’t fun.
They took a few moments to search the cabin thoroughly. Gibbs did point out, “Guys, Mrs. Barns isn’t gonna appreciate a damn mess. She’s wantin’ t’ sell this cracker box.”
Sheriff Daily nodded. “It’s nice, really. Compared to some, it’s a palace. I know one guy, made one out of a hog shed an’ a chicken coop. Still smells a bit on hot, damp days. So ... you guys take it easy or you’ll be cleanin’ up the mess.”
They dragged Joe out of the cabin and spent an hour listening to him whine, “I didn’t do nothin’. What’d I do? You can’t do this to me. I got my rights,” and similar shit. No one paid any attention to him except one deputy who kept telling him to shut up, not that that did much good.
The search revealed a cache of souvenirs; the man had been taking the ladies’ rank patches and one dog tag from each. He was also a stoner of epic proportions; he had a bag of pills, some coke, and a tip of some unidentified white powder that Tim said looked like a speedball. And when Tony said ‘bag’, he meant bag, not a small sandwich-sized bag as was usual; this guy had a quart freezer bag half-full of an assortment of pills that explained the break-ins at two local pharmacies. It was a wonder he hadn’t overdosed on a bad combination of drugs.
When they finished their search and had bagged and tagged their collection, Sheriff Daily informed them that their way out was by truck down a logging road. Their way in had been on foot. This caused Tim to snicker and Deputy Taylor to demand the story.
The truck turned out to be an old WWII troop transport that the sheriff’s office had gotten on the cheap. They piled in while Barns whined about his rights. Everyone settled in a seat and Deputy Hicks repeated the demand.
So Tim began in true military fashion. “So ... No shit, there we were...” The story kept everyone entertained until they hit the highway. Tim ended, “And so ... Jimmy had an epic bitch fit with Abby as Greek Chorus ... all I could do to keep from laughing in Vance’s damn face.”
Sheriff Daily laughed, and banged the top of the troop truck, which pulled over. “Ed, park near the back door. We’ll take Joe in, book him, do the paperwork, and hand him over. Should take about three hours.” He grinned at the questioning noise from Gibbs. “Jethro, we want him gone.” He turned back to the driver. “You take Gibbs and his team to Ruth’s place an’ get ‘em fed.”
Deputy Jones, Ed, nodded, “Okay, should I wait?”
“An’ how are they gonna get back if you don’t?” The Sheriff climbed back into the truck, shaking his head. Another bang on the top saw them back on the highway.
It wasn’t long before they were at Ruth’s place, which turned out to be a small truck stop near Stony Bottom, a small town strung out along state route #1. The Sheriff’s Station was out in the county and not really near much of anything.
The stop was small, but clean and neat, with the parking lot trash-free and the building newly painted. They piled out, but Gibbs stopped them. “Rack ‘em.” They all put their assault rifles into a lockbox bolted to the cab, then jumped down to head for the door.
The bell over the door let out a cheery jingle as they entered. A voice from the kitchen called, “Set where ya want, Annamarie’ll be out in a sec.”
Tony just took a place at a double table near the kitchen; he raised an eyebrow and got nods from Tim, Gibbs, and Cos. Dean didn’t care where they sat; neither did Remy.
Deputy Jones wasn’t consulted; he’d sit where they wanted.
A girl wearing a nametag and a pretty, lace-bordered apron came out and said, “My name is Annamarie and I’ll be your server today. Would you like water and coffee right away?” She gave them a funny look and smiled a bit hesitantly.
Ed eyed her, then snarked, “Mighty fancy for around here. What’s with all that?” he waved a hand at her apron.
“I’m practicin’ for when I go to college. I’m gettin’ a job at a place there and they’re fancy. So stick a sock in it.” She swatted him on the shoulder and glowered, then turned to Tony with a sickly sweet smile. “Sorry about that; boy’s brain-damaged, I swear. I’ll bring menus when I bring drinks. Okay?” She turned back, exclaiming, “Well, darn! I forgot ... the special of the day is chicken fried steak with cream gravy, peas or green beans, rolls, salad with choice of House, Thousand Island, or Ranch dressing, and pie or cake; drink included.”
Meanwhile, Ed was quietly snickering. Finally he said, “You can’t swat the customers ... or let ‘em get you flustered. I’ll have the special, sweet tea, ranch, pie. An’ I’m tellin’ Mama ya smacked me.”
Annamarie snorted, “An’ Aunt Connie’ll tell you t’ stuff it. You got the manners of a junkyard dog.”
Gibbs gave the deputy a sharp look then eyeballed the table. “I don’t think we need a menu. Looks like everyone wants the special. I’ll have coffee, peas, Ranch and apple pie.”
She scribbled in her pad then turned to Dean. “Next.” She made her way around the table, taking each order with a slight smile. “Okay. I’ll have your drinks out in a sec.” She frowned at her notes.
Cos watched, then asked, “Something wrong?”
“Not really. Just ... I never can keep the orders straight. And everyone has ordered the same thing except for dressing and dessert.”
Cos chuckled kindly. “Always start at the same place at the table and number the orders. So ... oriented from the front door ... I’m in seat six. Head of table ...” he pointed, “number one, and clock-wise around. You’ll get so you don’t have to write it down, you’ll just remember.”
“Well, now, aren’t you the smart one. Thank you.” She scurried off with her pad to turn in the orders.
She returned in a few minutes with the drinks and water all balanced on a huge tray, which she was trying not to tip. She managed well enough that she got the tray on the folding base without making a mess. “Okay, now, I’ll just ...” she looked at the table with a slight frown. “Yeah, Here we go.” She put drinks on the table, then returned to the tray to pour water into the glasses from a pitcher and get them on the table. “There. I get it right?”
“You did.” Tony flashed one of his high powered smiles which made Annamarie flush with pleasure. “Good job. So ... what are you majoring in?”
“Culinary arts with a minor in catering.”
Tony started to say something else, but the slap-bell rang, so Annamarie hurried to the pass to get their salads. She returned and managed to get most of the salads to the right people. It didn’t hurt that the dressing was in tiny cups instead of on the salad. The two she got wrong just exchanged cups and went on.
Gibbs called the table to order as they’d gotten a bit rowdy. “Okay, okay. You numbnuts settle down. We’ll finish lunch, then go back to the motel to shower and change. I’m sure Deputy Jones won’t mind.”
Ed shook his head. “I’d love to ditch all this stuff but it has to go back to the station.”
That was when the Pod realized that they were still in their armor, which explained the odd look Annamarie had given them. Dean shrugged, “I guess we’re used to it. It’s not the weight that’s a fuckin’ problem, it’s the damn heat.”
Ed agreed. “Probably ... and the fact that you’re more used to wearing it. I’ve only worn mine in training.” He poked at his salad. “I’m more used to domestic disputes, drunks, and smart-ass kids.”
Cos shrugged. “You’re doin’ damn good. Don’t forget, without you and your fellow deputies, the county would be full of battered spouses, idiot drunk drivers, and kids in real trouble.”
Ed nodded. “I know. I like my job, just ... sometimes it’d be nice to get a bit more recognition.”
Annamarie popped up just then. “I know. It’s just awful. But, what with things an’ stuff, most people don’t think. Well, free coffee on me. Just because.”
Ed started to say something but Tim nudged him. “Huh?”
“Let her. It’s as much for her as it is for you.”
“Oh, okay.” Ed thought about that. “But it’s a gratuity.”
Tony looked disgusted, “It’s a cup of fuckin’ coffee. Let ‘em do something nice for you. Public relations.”
Ed nodded. “Somethin’ t’ think about.”
They finished their salads just as the slap-bell rang again. Annamarie brought a huge tray to the table and plopped it down on the support. “Well, here we are. I hope you like it.” She began to put out the plates, saying, “Since there’s so many of you and you all have to be big eaters, Charlie just did the sides family style. Hope that’s ok.”
She finished putting down the plates, smiled and went away.
The steaks were cube steak which had been dipped in flour then buttermilk, flour again then batter made with flour, egg, baking powder, baking soda, and buttermilk. They were deep-fried to a golden crispness. The peas and green beans were obviously frozen, but had been prepared with care; a bit of garlic powder, salt, and pepper made a real difference. The peas also had mint, while the green beans had bacon. The rolls were light and fluffy with a distinct yeasty flavor.
Dean and Remy held a quick head-to-head convo, which resulted in Remy heading for the kitchen to try to worm the recipe for the rolls and peas out of the chef. It turned out that the man was very flattered that “foreigners” wanted his recipes. He said, “You go on an’ enjoy your food. I’ll write them up and have them for you when you settle up.”
“Thanks, man, I really appreciate that. So good.” Remy smiled that gentle smile that made every woman who saw it melt. He ambled back to the table. “Got the recipes. They’ll be at the register for us when we pay.”
Tony grinned. “Great. I’ve been looking for a good soft-roll recipe. None of the ones I have are really what I wanted. This is.”
Annamarie returned to the table one last time, bearing pie and cake. “Here we go. Let me see if I got it right.” She started handing around pie and cake. Gibbs got apple, Dean and Remy both got peach, Tim had chocolate cake, while Tony and Cos got spice cake with burnt sugar icing.
One bite of the spice cake had Tony groaning in pleasure. “Oh, man. I wish Jimmy was here, he’d fuckin’ love this.”
Tim nodded. “Ducky would too. But Abby doesn’t like cinnamon that much. She’d love the icing though.”
Remy pointed with his fork. “True dat. But she love peach anyt’in’.”
It only took a few more minutes for them to finish their desserts and head for the register.
Tony turned on his most brilliant smile. “I’d love the recipe for that spice cake. Please?”
Annamarie snorted, “I’ll ask. He’ll probably give it. Since you don’t live around here.” She turned and yelled, “Charlie! Write up the spice cake!”
Charlie yelled back. “I figured as much. Seein’ as how they moaned like they was havin’ really good ... I’ll be done in a sec.”
Dean snickered as Charlie cut off what he was obviously going to say.
Tim poked him. “Jerk.”
“ ’s funny. Bitch.” Dean poked him back.
They shoved back and forth, tripping each other and laughing until Gibbs called them to order. “Okay, you two settle the fuck down before you break something.” Gibbs turned back to pay their bill and collect the three recipes; these he tucked into his wallet. “Thank you. The food was good. The recipes will be much appreciated by everyone. Good-bye.”
They all piled back into the truck and left for the station. They’d decided that no one stank enough to need a shower yet. They’d just take off their armor and leave it in the truck.
When they reached the station, Deputy Jones was a bit surprised to find that all his passengers were sleeping. It was a good thing he knew better than to shake someone. He woke Tim by tossing pebbles at his feet until he woke up.
“Huh? Wha? Oh, hey. I’m up.” Tim’s reaction woke the rest and they all scrambled out of the truck, dumping their armor as they got off.
The Desk Sergeant nodded to them and pointed into the back. “Back there. Got him booked in and did the dirty. His advocate is with him, beginning the extradition process. Be glad when you get that big girl out a’ here. Makes my teeth itch.”
Gibbs took the clipboard with the check-in info on it and started to read.
Tony sighed. “I ... well, I don’t think we’ll get to take him with us. If I know anything about advocacy, they’re gonna try t’ have him kept here until someone actually charges him with something.”
They started for the back, but a young, enthusiastic greenie stopped them. “Sorry ... sirs, you’ll have to be ... um ... searched for ... contraband.”
Sheriff Daily started to say something but Tony just winked at him and grinned. “Okay, son, you wanna get a bin?”
“Sure. But you could just put your stuff on the counter. It’ll be safe right there, an’ I’ll keep a personal eye on it.” He looked hopeful.
Gibbs just shrugged. “I’d advise bins, but on your head be it.” He pulled his Sig out of his thigh holster and put it on the counter, then he pulled his left pants leg up, grumbling about having to retuck it and put the Chiappa Rhino 20ds .357 beside the Sig. Then he ripped the velcro straps of his tac-vest open, pulled out a K-Bar and added it to the pistols. He also put a Stinger down. After standing for a moment he said, “That’s it.” He stepped back to retuck his pants leg
Remy stepped forward next and turned over his issue Sig, a handful of throwing knives, a K-Bar and a lump of C-4, then took a detonator and box out of another pocket. The deputy began to look uncomfortable.
Dean also turned over a Sig; but he added three wire snares, a garrote, an Omersub Cryot Dagger Knife in an aftermarket sheath and a match safe. He pointed to the knife. “Diver’s knife.” The deputy said, “Ah.”
Cos was under-armed with just his Sig and a K-Bar.
Tim was a bit surprising, with his mild demeanor and round face. No one expected to see a Sig, a Charter Arms Under Cover Light .38P+, a cam-loaded folding knife, and a flash drive. The deputy was beginning to look decidedly nervous, while Sheriff Daily and a couple of the older deputies were holding back laughter.
Tony was last, but had to wait as Deputy Kluger was putting everyone’s stuff into bins. When it was his turn, he grinned as he unloaded. First was a .45 Glock G41Gen4 Semi-Auto; its thick grip, which accommodated a 16-shot-capacity mag, gave Tony no trouble, but made the deputy gulp. Then he handed over his NCIS-issue Sig and an extra two mags for each pistol. This was followed by a K-Bar and a cam-loaded folder. He patted himself down and produced a wad of C4, several detonators, and a power box. A garrote and some snares were added to the pile. Another quick pat-down had him shaking his head, “Damn it, I know I’ve forgotten something. Or ... maybe not. Some of my stuff is in my ruck ... I think.”
Even Gibbs stared, “Jesus Christ, Badger, can you say overkill?”
Tony held his hand up with thumb and forefinger about an eighth of an inch apart. “Just a bit? Maybe.”
Surprisingly, it was Tim who said, “No such thing. There’s only open fire, and reload.”
Deputy Kluger, who was now pale as skim milk, pointed with a shaking hand to a heavy steel door. “Through there.” He keyed the door from his station and it buzzed as it opened for the Pod.
“Thanks, kid. Keep an eye on our stuff. Oh ... and that wad of Play-Doh you’re kneading? That’s C4.” The deputy dropped it like it was hot. “But don’t worry. It won’t explode without a lot of help. You could even smack it with a hammer and it’d just flatten out.”
Deputy Maxwell snorted. “Do not give that greenie ideas. Boy could break an anvil.”
Deputy Kluger exclaimed, “It was an accident!”
This got laugher from the office and wide-eyed looks from most of the Pod. Gibbs just shook his head and pushed Tim through the door. “Go.”
Tim got through the door and out of the way, snickering all the while. “AJ, you’re evil.”
“I know. I’d hang my head in shame but ... seriously? Gave my last fuck in my first deployment.” Tony grinned and got out of Gibbs’ way.
They clattered down the hall and into a conference room with one chair bolted to the floor. It wasn’t long before they were joined by Joe Barns and his advocate, read lawyer, who was named Buck Evans. “Well, gentlemen, it seems we have a problem.”
Gibbs just rolled his eyes. “I’ll make a call. You do have a choice. Deal with me ... or deal with JAG. Your client has left a damn string of murdered lady Marines from Maine to Virginia. We’re still not sure of the number yet. One of the things we wanted to discuss with him,” he jerked a thumb at Barns.
“We’ll see about that after you show me some proof of your accusations.”
Tony took his phone out of his pocket and said, “I’ll send you the unclassified files. But some of it is actually need to know ... and you don’t.”
Mr. Evans looked displeased at that, but handed his phone to Tony. Tony fiddled for a moment, then handed it back. “Might want to transfer all that to a tablet; your screen is a bit small.” Mr Evans just took a 12.9” iPad Pro from his briefcase and transferred the files. He started looking through them and flinched as Tim pulled some of his computer magic and used his phone to pull up the pictures of some of the victims. “Oh, my lord.” Mr. Evans dropped the pad and rushed for the door.
Tim smirked at Barns and tucked his phone into a pocket.
Joe Barns snarled, “What did you do, you little fucker?”
“Nothing you need to know about, asshole.”
Mr. Evans returned and sat down after moving his chair as far away from Barns as he could get and still stay on his side of the table. “Much as I am disgusted by ... that,” he pointed to his iPad, “I still have a job to do.”
Gibbs just shrugged. “Just make sure all the damn t’s are crossed and i’s dotted and we’ll get along fine. We don’t necessarily want to be cooped up with ... him all the way back to DC. My take on this is simple. We leave him in your custody, and you fuckin’ transport him when it’s time.” Gibbs knew this was going to blow up in Evans’ face; the county was poor and really didn’t have the resources in money or officers to do this. It was around three hundred and twenty-some-odd miles, would take five plus hours, one way, not counting stops; and tie up a vehicle and two officers. Not to mention the gas and overtime.
Gibbs glanced at Tony then Tim. “We ready?”
Tim just stood up, followed by Tony who said, “Oscar Mike.”
Gibbs looked at Barns then smiled that smile that made sharks sweat. “By the way, count your damn lucky stars that you didn’t fuck with us. SEALs take no prisoners ... neither do Marine Scout Snipers. Jackwad.”
They returned to the outside conference room to wait, collecting their weapons on the way. Deputy Kluger offered to go into town and get pastries but Gibbs turned him down, saying, “Thanks, but we’re out of here in an hour. We’ll go back to the motel, clean up, gas the hummer, and be on our way by ... 1600 ... on the dot. Have ‘im ready or ... fuck this shit.”
Sheriff Daily nodded. “Gotcha. I’ll see what I can do about building a fire under someone.”
Another deputy was assigned to drive them back to their motel as Deputy Jones had gone off duty while they were busy with Barns. While they were on the road, Tim tried to call Abby. “Damn it. Fuck this shit. I’ve got one damn bar. Abby’s gonna have fits. I’ll try again at the motel.”
Cos shook his head. “No go. Remember? Gibbs tried to call Vance and had to use the damn landline.”
“Right. I hate fuckin’ dead zones. I’ll be glad to get back to civilization and no damn dead zones. Shit.” Tim shoved his phone back into its pocket, grumbling.
Dean scowled. “Someone is gonna have t’ call Vance an’ tell ‘im what’s goin’ on, get new orders. Seriously, I’m not lookin’ forward t’ takin’ that fuckin’ jackwad back t’ DC with us. Can you imagine five damn hours in a vehicle with that whinin’ come-stain?
Remy swore in French then said, “Not doin’ it. No damn way. Let the Federal Marshals take care of it.”
Gibbs thought about that for a few minutes while the rest of the Pod indulged in the ancient military pastime of bitching. “Shut up. We’re gonna make a fuckin’ run for it. Fuck this shit. Vance can make the damn arrangements. We did our due, turn the rest over to JAG and fuck it, let them deal. We can shower and be out of town in an hour, easy. Make sure you get all your damn gear. Wouldn’t do to leave a fuckin’ expensive issue behind.”
When they arrived at the motel, Gibbs thanked their driver and told him to tell the sheriff that they were going to be out of town in less than an hour. He, the sheriff, was now responsible for all arrangements to get Barns wherever JAG said he should be. He, Gibbs, would call Vance and start arrangements to get them in touch with JAG and the Federal Marshals, who were now in charge of this whole shootin’ match and Charlie Foxtrot. The deputy just grinned, nodded, and drove away.
“Well, he was easy.”
Gibbs frowned for a moment, “I’m not sure he even understood what I was sayin’.” He shrugged, “Fuck it. Shower.”
Since they had three rooms they split up to their quarters to shower and change. While Tim showered, Gibbs called Vance. “Leon. We got him. He’s a real sad sack and a loser. So ... we’re leaving him in custody here. Up to you to get ‘em where he needs t’ go.”
“All right. Reports on my desk, ASAP. I’ll call JAG and get things started.”
“You do that, Leon. We’ll be back in DC in ... about seven hours. We’re gonna loaf it an’ take our time. Stop for a meal, that sort of thing.”
“I’ll see you then, Jethro. Tomorrow by 1000. Reports due by 1200.”
“Okay.” Gibbs hung up the phone without more comment.
Leon eyed the phone with some disfavor. “Would it fuckin’ kill ya t’ say good-bye? Jerk.”
.
It wasn’t long before they were all showered and dressed again. It seemed that the old saw that people who lived together got more and more alike as time went on was true. Everyone had dressed in some version of jeans, t-shirt, flannel, boots, and holdouts. It was a bit warm for flannel shirts, but everyone wore one, unbuttoned, as the reason was to cover their shoulder holsters. Their pants were untucked to allow easy access to whatever holdout they considered useful.
Gibbs held out the can, rattling the chips, “Come on, let’s get this show on the road. Pick your seat and suck it up if you don’t like it. No damn do-overs. I want out of this CATFU dead zone ASAP.”
So everyone took a chip and settled in the seat they’d drawn; everyone had to admit that Jimmy’s idea had paid off in spades. No one complained if they didn’t like the seat they’d drawn; a bit of cursing fate, some generalized bitching, but no real complaining.
They were on the road exactly one hour after arriving at the motel. Tony and Tim both kept checking their phones for bars and the swearing was epic as they continuously fluctuated from one to three bars but couldn’t keep three bars long enough to make a call.
Tim finally advised, “We should just give it up until we’re out of the mountains. We’re okay until we drop into a valley. I’m goin’ t’ sleep.” And with that, he settled back to take a nap.
They drove for three hours, then stopped at a truck stop. The hummer needed gas, and they needed the head as well as food and drink.
They trooped into the quick-mart to get snacks and drinks, leaving the Hummer to an attendant; this was one of the few remaining places which provided them.
They wandered the aisles for a few minutes; then the attendant came in, hunting for Tony. “Excuse me, sir. I need you to move your vehicle to the pumps. You’ve parked too far from the pump, and I’m not allowed to move it.”
Tony followed the kid out to move the huge thing to the pump. He pocketed his key and returned to his search for the perfect snack. He was working on a decision between beef jerky and a snack stick when the attendant came back in, this time with a very frightened look.
“Sir! I stopped the fill. There’s got to be a leak somewhere in the system. I’ve put nearly forty gallons in and it was still going.”
Tony dropped both the jerky and the stick into his basket before saying, “It’s okay. I put in two fifty-gallon aftermarket tanks Just check to make sure the feed switched over.”
The kid gulped and whispered, “A hundred gallons of diesel? Holy shit.”
Dean made the kid jump when he said, “Yeah. Ran out of juice in the field once too often.”
“Um ... Do I dare ask?” The kid looked even more nervous.
“Might not be that good an idea ... depends on how strong your stomach is.” Tony eyed a bag of pretzels but decided against it.
“Oh. No ... I’m not askin’. When a guy looks like you and says somethin’ like that? I’m leavin’ it alone. I’ll finish fueling.” The kid scurried away, red-faced.
Dean shook his head. “You shouldn’t scare the kiddies.”
Tony just snorted and wandered on. He was tired; he’d been up at 0500 and going since; not that the others hadn’t, but he was driving and not looking forward to another three hours on the highway with, a possible hour in crappy DC traffic on top.
Gibbs ambled over with a package of chips and a candy bar; he dropped them in Tony’s basket. “Keys.” Tony didn’t protest; he just fished the keys out of his pocket and dropped them in Gibbs’ outstretched hand. He tucked the keys into his pocket, said, “Coffee,” and walked off.
Tony shook his head. “Functional mute.”
“He is that. But only when he’s flamin’ pissed.”
Remy watched Gibbs for a moment, “Wonder what the fuck’s got ‘im pissed.”
Cos, who was trying to call Belt, said, “Probably the lack of a fuckin’ signal. I got one damn bar. Hate this area.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and walked off, grumbling about dead zones and how he wasn’t ever going anywhere there was no service again. Ever.
Tony nodded. “What he said.”
They paid for their drinks and snacks, then everyone except Tony left. Tony stayed to pay for the fuel. The checker punched up his pump then blinked. “Eighty-six gallons? Sir?”
“Sounds about right.” Tony handed the lady his credit card. “Ring it up.”
She scanned the snacks from his basket then said, “Two hundred fourteen dollars and seventy-one cents.”
Tony swiped his card and waited while it validated. The machine beeped, the checker punched a button, then waited while his receipt printed. “Here you go, sir. Have a nice day.”
“Thanks. You too. Bye.” Tony put the receipt in his wallet, picked up his bag and ambled out the door.
It wasn’t long before they were back on the road, with Gibbs behind the wheel and Tony riding shotgun, sound asleep with his feet on the dash. Gibbs had finally slowed his driving style. He’d found that one of the reasons everyone objected to his style so much was, he drove like there was an IED every foot, it brought on flashbacks and messed with all the SEALs. Tim had admitted that he always felt like they were an inch from crashing, and he was always a nervous wreck when they got where they were going.
Gibbs finished the drive in good, but not record, time and pulled into his drive near 1600. He got out, then slammed the door, effectively waking everyone up. Dean and Cos scrambled to get out, grab their stuff, and head for the door. Remy took his time, saying good night to Tony and Tim.
Tony grumbled a bit, trying to wake up, then took the wheel. Tim waved to the GHQ group who stood on the porch to watch them leave.
The half hour drive to Mallard Manor was accomplished in near silence as Tim texted Abby to let her know they were back, and Jimmy and Ducky to let them know, as well as asking if they needed anything from the stores. Jimmy texted back that they didn’t, and Abby just sent, “K,” to let them know she got the text.
Ducky and Jimmy greeted them at the door, grabbing bags and chatting cheerfully. Jimmy grumped, “I don’t know where you were exactly but don’t go there again. We were worried when no one answered our calls and texts until Director Vance told us you were in a dead zone. Supper as soon as you’re cleaned up.”
Tim sighed. “Great. And my phone is blown up with all the texts and missed calls. I’ll have to clear it tomorrow.”
Tony moaned, “Oh man. I just hope I didn’t miss something from Belt. I do not want a GOMAR.”
Ducky reassured him, saying, “My dear boy. No one can hold you responsible for being in a dead zone while doing your duty.”
“Yeah? I hope.”
It turned out that their CO was only pissed that they’d been in a dead zone and therefore unable to call for assistance if they needed it. Tony remarked rather mildly, “Well, if four SEALs and a damn Marine Scout Sniper need fuckin assistance t’ pick up some waste of space, I’m worried.”
Belt just snorted and said, “True. Too true.”
Tony hung up. “Well, thank Thor.” He eyed his phone. “Wonder if there’s some way to deal with dead zones?”
Tim shook his head. “If you can figure that out, you’ll be rich.”
They settled at the table to eat. Tim and Tony were happy to find that Jimmy had made his beef and barley stew, and Ducky had made rolls. They ate quietly, then headed for bed. Tony even said, “I bet I get a good five hours.”
Ducky, who’d run ETKM on Tony to make sure that he wasn’t suffering from some sort of tumor or something, nodded, “I hope so. I know you don’t seem to be sleep-deprived, but I still find it worrisome.”
“Don’t worry, Ducky; if I feel off, I’ll let you know.”
They separated to their own rooms and went to bed. Tony muttered, “Good night, guys.” and was out like the proverbial light.
.