Rule Number Eight chapter 2
I meant to post this last night but RL came up. Sorry.
Chapter two
Cos eyed his phone. “Got two bars. I’ll wait until I’ve got four before I try anything. What number should I call?”
Tony thought for a moment then said, “Try the local contact first. If that fails, which I’d bet you real money it will, try the NCIS agent in Juffair. If we had sat link I’d say just call Belt. Might be able to get a direct connection through Juffair but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
The next check showed five bars, so Cos hit speed dial and waited. He got a connection and they lucked out, the desk had been given instructions, via Director Vance, to patch them through to the Air Force base. It didn’t take five minutes to get coordinates for an immediate pickup.
Dean offered, “It’s only three klicks North. I’d say cake walk, but I’m not jinxin’ us.”
They were half way there when Cos’s phone vibrated. The man on the other end was apologetic but told them that there was activity at their pickup point so they needed to go to the secondary point which was about two klicks east of their current position. So they humped it in the new direction.
They were now at the secondary pick up point and he could hear the chopper. He was hoping for an eventless extraction but… hope in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.
Dean and Cos were sacked out on each other despite the heat. Everyone was tired, pissed and worried. Remy was watching the other 180 from Tony.
Cos twitched, poked Dean then grumbled, “Better be our bird. I’m tired a’ this.”
Tony agreed adding, “And I’m gonna find out who was responsible for this goat rope and run ’im into the ground. He’s gonna be doin’ PT until he drops.”
The chopper landed and the door opened. “Someone call for a ride?”
“Bet your ass. Thanks, man.”
They all clambered into the chopper and settled in. The airman closed the door and they took off.
.
Ducky woke up when Jimmy patted his foot. “Yes?”
“Concussion check.” Jimmy went through all the checks, patiently listening while Ducky grumbled. When he was done he just said, “Now you know how AJ feels. Go back to sleep.”
Ducky pulled the covers back up and went to sleep again. He knew the next check was in four hours but he was used to waking at odd hours so it wasn’t that much of a problem.
The next check went much like the first only Ducky glanced at his clock and realized that it was 0600. He was used to getting up at that hour anyway, so he got up and dressed. He was downstairs making tea when Tim came looking for him.
“Ducky?”
“Yes? Tea?” He held up the pot.
“Yeah, I’ll have a cup with you. How’re you feelin’?”
“Good, good. Head still aches a bit, but other than some stiffness, I’m fine.”
Jimmy entered, yawning and scratching. “Morning. Tea?”
“The water is on the boil just now.” Ducky picked up the kettle and poured water into the pot; he swirled it around then dumped it into the sink. He dumped the ready measured leaves into the pot, then added water. “There. I’ll just pop the cozy on and we’ll have tea.”
Gibbs grumbled, “And coffee.”
Ducky just smirked and poured the last of the water into a press pot. “Deal with that yourself, Grumpy.”
Gibbs chuckled as he stirred the grounds in the pot. He took a deep breath. “Smells good. Thanks.”
They settled at the table to drink their coffee or tea and decide what they wanted for breakfast.
Ducky was of the opinion that they all ought to have oatmeal; everyone else was of the opinion that Ducky could have it but they wanted something else… anything else.
Tim finally got up and said, “Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs. You want something else, make it. Ducky, I’ll make your oatmeal.”
Ducky chuckled softly. “Very well, thank you.”
Tim put the bowl of oatmeal into the microwave. Tony had started making it in the rice cooker and storing about a week’s worth in the fridge. Ducky ate a bowl almost every morning, claimed it kept him regular, which made everyone snicker.
As the oatmeal warmed, Tim started cracking eggs. Jimmy ambled over, dug out a frying pan, and started putting bacon in it.
Tim asked, “Don’t you need to heat the pan first?”
“No; if you put cold bacon into a hot pan, it’ll do two things. First, it’ll spatter and pop; second, it’ll shrink like the dickens. So cold pan, cold meat.” Jimmy turned on the heat then got out of the way so Tim could put another pan on for the eggs.
It wasn’t long before they had eggs, bacon, toast, and more coffee.
Gibbs accepted his plate with a ‘thank you’. Ducky also thanked Tim for his oatmeal.
Tim always thought that plain oatmeal was wallpaper paste masquerading as food, so he dressed it up. This time it was dried cranberries, cream, and honey, with just a dash of cinnamon.
While they ate, they discussed what they knew of the case. It wasn’t that much. PO Reynolds had murdered PO Jackson because of either money or drugs, or both. Where the money and drugs had come from was one question; the guns could be accounted for easily. Where the drugs were going was another question.
Jimmy offered, “Neither one of them was a user, and that’s a bit unusual. Both had residue on their fingers. Abby amended my report; she also found lots of gunpowder residue on both of them.”
Gibbs scowled. “And how do you know that?”
“She stayed in the lab until she finished her tests ... at about 2230 ... emailed me the results. I read them this morning, first thing.”
“Oh. She send anyone else this?”
Tim nodded. “She sent me a full copy of the report to my phone. I haven’t read it all yet; just the highlights.” He piled eggs on his toast, then crammed it into his mouth. “Mmm.” He swallowed a bit convulsively then continued. “I need to get in fairly quickly, my results should be in by 0830.”
Gibbs crunched his last strip of bacon ―Ducky had stolen a couple― then said, “We’ll leave as soon as I’m done cleaning up.” He stuffed the last of his eggs and toast into his mouth and took his plate to the dishwasher. “If we can follow the money, we’ll learn something.”
Tim blinked for a second then asked, “Is that a movie reference?”
Gibbs gave him bitch face as he asked, “Movie? Seriously?”
Jimmy poked Tim in the shoulder. “Probably not, dumb ass.”
“Well, that’s Jerry Maguire, 1996; Tom Cruise and Cuba Gooding, Jr. with ... um ... Renee Zellweger. I think.” Tim finished his food and tea. He handed his dishes to Gibbs. “Thanks, Jet.”
Fifteen minutes later they were headed back to NCIS.
Gibbs drove in his company car with Tim, and Ducky rode with Jimmy. It didn’t take them long to get through the checkpoint and into the parking garage. Jimmy didn’t offer to help Ducky, but he kept an eye on his friend, just in case.
They rode up to Autopsy, where Ducky and Jimmy got off; the squad room was two floors above that. The second Gibbs and Tim exited the elevator, Tim headed for his desk and a beeping computer. Someone yelled, “Glad you’re here, that damn thing started beeping about five minutes ago.”
Tim yelled back, “Well, you know how to turn it off,” then sat down to check his results, ignoring the grumbled, “Yeah, touch your desk? No thanks.” It was well known that the usually mild mannered Tim McGee would mess you up if you touched his computers.
Gibbs just barked, “Damn it, wha’do ya got?”
Tim clicked his mouse, then said, “Traced the guns ... or some of them. They were sold to three different men at a gun show in ... never mind. They aren’t re-registered, but the dumb asses paid with either a check or credit card. The finances all point to Colombian contacts. There’s a new group called the Black Hand. Reference to Sherlock Holmes that you don’t care about, but it might lead to something.” He turned to his keyboard and entered some search parameters, then went back to his report. “I’ll run facials, but I’m not expecting much. Driver’s licenses, Navy ID, that sort of thing will show up. But ... since I don’t know what routes they might have taken to and from anywhere useful, I can’t call up security camera footage. If we could do that, we might find a contact and be able to trace them back to a higher-up. No chance.”
Gibbs sighed. “I know. Do what you can. See if someone ... Fornell ... knows anything.”
“Okay.” Tim sighed. “I wish Tony and the others would come home.”
“Me too.” Gibbs tried to get hold of Belt to see when the SEALs would be back. He got a message that said he was away from his desk, leave a message, etc. He hung up, grumbling wordlessly.
.
Tony sighed happily; the shower was lukewarm and felt wonderful. He felt like he had sand everywhere. Groans and moans from the others told their own tale. They were all glad to be back in Germany and on their way back to the States.
Dean grumbled, “Too bad Belt has already found that idiot who planned this ...CATFU mission. Wonder if there’s gonna be anything left for us?”
Cos snorted, then said, “Nope. You know that a soup sandwich brings out the DI in Belt and the CO. Bet that jackwad is mopping floors in Outer Mongolia about now.”
“Fine. But me? I want a big bowl o’ Miss Abby’s gumbo an’ some dirty rice an’ maybe some sausage pie. Yum.” Remy sighed in anticipation then began to sing a Cajun folk song.
It didn’t take them long to finish their showers and get dressed in clean BDU’s. A quick trip through the mess, and they were back on a plane headed Stateside. No one bothered to check their phones for messages; there was nothing they could do but worry.
.
Abby eyed the piles of evidence with a rather jaundiced eye. There was a lot of obvious trash, bottles and cans, pizza boxes, and Chinese takeout containers. She had managed to convince legal that takeout was way down the list of useful evidence. With a sigh she started sorting the mess into categories. She referred to them as “first priority,” “second priority,” “maybe,” and “holy crap, why did they even bother.” The last category was actually put aside in a bin to be tested tomorrow, and you know tomorrow never comes.
Gibbs stuck his head in the door and then eased in. Abby was in a snit and snapping at everyone. He’d come down to see what the actual problem was. “Abbs?”
“What!” Abby turned around, saw Gibbs and sighed, “Sorry. Really sorry. I’m working as fast as my babies can but ... I’m not getting much of anything. I can tell you that there were four people at the house at one time or another, but I can only identify two so far. I’m just finishing up the DNA profiles on the two unidentified people. As soon as that’s done, I’ll start running them through the Navy database and CODIS. If I fail there, I’ll try Interpol and ...” Gibbs cleared his throat. “Okay ... several others. That’ll take most of the day to process, so while that’s running, I’m going to start other tests that you’re not interested in but they’re really, really important and ... how dare that awful man hit poor Ducky! I’d like to smack him upside the head with something really hard. You’ll smack him for me, won’t you, Gibbs?”
Gibbs sighed, “Damn it, Abby, how many Caf-Pows have you had already?”
“Um ... three? Or four? Not sure. I got here at like five a.m. and started. There were results that came in then, so I just came in to check and, since I was already here, I went to work. And ... maybe I did overdo just a bit.” She held out caffeine shaky hands then clenched them into fists. “Bad. Now what?”
Gibbs took her hand. “You come up to the bullpen and sit at the guest desk and eat. Come on.” He tugged at her hand. “Now. The tests will run without you standing over them. Your health is more important than nurse-maiding this. Ducky will shake his head at you.”
Abby followed obediently saying, “Well, I am a bit hungry and I really don’t want Ducky to be disappointed in me and he will shake his head at me. I don’t like it when Ducky shakes his head at me, it’s not good. Will he be mad at me? You think he’ll be mad?”
“No, Ducky won’t be mad at you, nor disappointed. He’ll understand, but come on now. I’ll send Dorney out to get you a breakfast burrito.”
Gibbs pulled Abby into the elevator, punched the button for the squad room level, and waited for the doors to open again.
He maneuvered her into the chair at the guest desk and ordered, “Stay!” then turned to Ned Dorneget. “Ned, go to the burrito place and get us all a burrito. Abby’s had three or four Giant Gulp Caf-Pows already. Go.”
Ned gave Abby a wide-eyed look, then scurried for the elevator, shaking his head. “On it, Boss.”
.
Now back State-side, Tony decided to check his phone.
A few moments later Tony eyed his phone with an expression that, should that device have been sentient, would have sent it running. He’d finally decided that it was safe to check his messages; he was rethinking that.
He wasn’t the only one; the scowls on the faces of all the SEALs made a Midshipman do an about face and head in the opposite direction.
Tony let loose with a tirade of swearing, curses, and threats that actually brought Shore Patrol on the run. The rest of the SEALs were no better, only a bit quieter.
The WO in charge of the Shore Patrol team approached carefully; there was no telling what had brought about this explosion from a team fresh from combat. “Sir? What’s the problem? Can we help?”
Tony was abruptly aware that they were scaring the “children.” “Sorry. We all just got some bad news. Some jackwad knocked a friend of ours down. He’s ... like seventy-something ... pissed us off. Sorry for the upset. We’ll tone it down.”
WO Cobb relaxed. “Okay. Just keep it down.”
Tony looked around; they were standing in a clear spot nearly ten feet in diameter. “Damn. We look that bad?”
“BAMF all the way, dude. Where you headed?”
“DC. Ride’s on the way. We’ll just...” He gestured vaguely. “Yeah.”
WO Cobb shrugged. “Come with us. You’re not in any trouble, but we’ll get you somewhere to meet your ride. Out of line of sight of the civvies and ... whoever.”
All the spectators drew a sigh of relief when the small group gathered up their rucks and followed the contingent of SP’s down a hall and out of sight.
They went to a small lounge that was obviously for the employees. WO Cobb pointed. “Coffee’s good. There’s no food except for the machines. If you need to make a land-line call, dial #3 then the number. I better get back on the floor.” He smiled, then hurried out.
Tony rubbed his face with one hand. “Well, shit. Fuck.”
Cos said, “I’ll call Jimmy for a real update; everyone else shut the fuck up.”
Tony nodded. “Put it on speaker.”
“That’s why I’m callin’. My phone has the loudest one.” Cos dialed, punched the speaker icon, and waited.
“Palmer. Who is calling please?”
“Jimmy, it’s Cos. What’s the matter with your heads-up?”
“Nothing, I just have bile on my gloves. Hit the connect with my elbow.”
“Oh. Tell us about Ducky. What the actual hell?”
Jimmy gave them a quick run-down of what had happened and Ducky’s current condition, ending, “So he’s mainly pissed. Don’t break anything getting back, but be prepared to deal with a pissed-off Jet. Tim’s not much better, Abby’s Caf-Powed out, and I’m slightly homicidal. If Vance could do it, he’d issue a shoot on sight. Gotta go. Bye.”
Cos hung up; Tony rubbed his face. “Where the fuck is our ride?”
Dean left the room, returning quickly to tell them that their ride was there. They all trooped out, tossed their rucks into the belly bins, and found a seat. Cos mumbled something about “short bus” that got him a smack on the shoulder from Remy.
Remy retaliated by picking him up and carrying him onto the bus, then dumping him in a seat. “There, homme. Sit an’ stay out a’ trouble.”
Cos shrugged. “I’m sleepin’ until we get there. We’re gonna be workin’ our asses off until something breaks in this case. No one hurts Ducky an’ gets away with it.”
The rest of the men agreed with this. The driver boarded, announced, “We’re puttin’ wheels under this. Belt up.”
Dean demanded, “You mean put on our seat belts or shut up?”
The driver replied, “Both.”
They fastened their seat belts, shut their mouths, and settled in to sleep until DC.
.
Abby greeted Ducky in Autopsy with a simple request. “Ducky! I’m so glad to see you. Are you alright? I need some samples, just to check. If PO Jackson was using, that’d be a reason that PO Reynolds might get pissed at him, so I need some blood. Jimmy did a good job with the report, but he didn’t draw any samples. I need them ... like ... now. Okay?”
Jimmy, who was right behind Ducky, got a bit irritated. “I brought you a complete set of samples. You told me to put them in the fridge. And I did ... right in front in the lab fridge. So don’t say I put them in the wrong one. I put them in the one I always do.” He took a deep breath, ready to defend himself.
Abby had other ideas. “What? I checked before I came down. I’ll go back and check again but if you’re sending me on a wild goose chase ... well, that dog won’t hunt.” She trotted out, scowling, to recheck.
Ducky sighed and sat down at his desk. “Well, she certainly has had too much Caf-Pow.”
Jimmy nodded. “She has. Vance limited her to two cups a day ... but he only thinks in ... standards. She’s been drinking two Double Big Gulps; that’s ... um ... one is somewhere around 96 ounces.”
Ducky frowned. “I’d really like to get a kidney function on that woman. That much caffeine and sugar can’t be good for her. Not to mention the wear and tear on her nerves.”
Jimmy agreed. “Seriously. Since I cut out soda, I don’t get near as much indigestion but ... I think Abby drinks diet. And that’s not that good for her either, as artificial sweeteners have their own hazards.”
They agreed that, if Abby continued to abuse herself with Caf-Pow, they’d have to tell Gibbs.
After that short conversation, they turned to the next autopsy they needed to do. Ducky settled in to watch and kibitz while Jimmy did the actual work. Ducky was very happy with Jimmy’s work and was more and more easing him into the actual work while he advised and evaluated the findings. He was getting old, after all, or older. And he had several papers he wanted to write.
.
When they reached the outskirts of DC Metro, the driver pulled over in a parking lot, woke them, and asked, “Okay, we’re in DC Metro. Where, exactly, do you want to go?”
Tony took a quick head count then said, “Who wants to go home first?” Everyone indicated that they did. “Okay. Mallard Manor is closest, then GHQ. I’ll be headed in to the Yard as soon as I get cleaned up. I expect to see you all there within the hour.”
The driver didn’t care where he went first se he informed them that, “I get paid by the mile. You wanna go to Chicago? I’m your man. So ... addresses.”
Tony gave him the addresses and sat back in his seat. He was a bit disgusted to realize that no one had thought to give the driver more than DC as an address.
After consulting his GPS the driver announced, “Okay, that first address is an hour out, and then twenty minutes to the second.”
When Tony was dropped off he got his ruck and trotted inside. It didn’t take him long to empty his ruck, sort his clothing into clean and dirty, then drop the dirty in the laundry room. He was a bit amused to see that his clean pile contained a pair of boxers and two t-shirts.
“I swear, doesn’t matter how many pairs of socks I take, I run out. And clean pants? Really.” He complained to himself. Gathering what he needed, he went to shower, shave, and make himself decent.
.
Things were going about as expected at GHQ. Dean was bitching about not having anything clean, Cos was explaining to him that, if he’d do his laundry before he was damn near naked, this wouldn’t happen… all at the same time. Remy just ignored both of them and went to shower. He wasn’t amused to find that he didn’t have anything much clean either. He grumbled, “An’ why we t’ink it good idea t’ take every last stitch a’ clothin’ we got, I’ll never know.”
And why none of them had done laundry before leaving, no one knew either. They all had civvies, but since they were going on a case, they wanted uniforms. This was serious to all of them, and, as the saying goes, rank hath its privileges.
Remy called Tony, “AJ. What we wearin’? I got nothing but blacks clean. Bit formal?”
Tony, who was already in blacks, said, “Blacks it is. I’m leavin’ in five.”
“On your six. We’re puttin’ wheels under this in ten.”
.
They arrived at about the same time, checked through, and headed upstairs.
Tony knew that agents were pressing themselves against the walls to let them by, but he didn’t care. He ordered, “Autopsy first. See Ducky for ourselves, then on up.”
“Sir!” Dean, Cos, and Remy weren’t about to argue, none of them would feel comfortable until they’d seen their friend for themselves.
At first glance Ducky looked fine, but when he turned to greet them the damage was obvious. Ducky’s face had bloomed into one of those bruises that looks bad and feels worse. The bruising was centered low on his temple, surrounding the cut. It covered half his face from forehead to jawline and was all the colors a bruise could be.
Tony and crew went from a bit annoyed to flamin’ pissed in a split second.
“Damn it, Ducky. We got a perp? Where is he?”
Ducky chuckled, “I saw the man, but we already had an ID. The only reason I was there, with Jimmy, I might add, is that Gibbs went with Tim and Ned to arrest our DB and our perp for ... something. Not entirely sure exactly what, but they found PO Jackson dead, and PO Reynolds knocked me down whilst evading arrest. Now, I’m fine; go help Jet before he ruptures something.”
Jimmy nodded. “Go, go. I’ve got my eye on him.” He tapped one forefinger beneath his eye with a wink then waved them away.
Tony eyed them both for a moment, then said, “Call if you need anything,” and with that, they were gone.
.
Gibbs didn’t even look up when the elevator door opened; he just pointed to Tim’s desk and said, “Tim and Dorney got on it. No results yet. Someone’s blocking us. AJ, see if you can’t call someone and find something out. You squids are going to go interview all his friends on base. Go, I want something by 1700 ... latest.”
No one argued that they’d just got in, nor that they didn’t know who his friends were. Tony looked at Tim. “Email me a list.”
“On it.” Tim clattered at his keyboard for a moment, then Tony’s phone beeped.
“Got it.” The whole team of SEALs turned around and walked back into the elevator and disappeared when the doors closed.
Gibbs was headed out for a cup of coffee; as he entered the elevator, Vance joined him. “Got a call from FBI Director―”
Gibbs didn’t care about the name so he interrupted, “What do the feebs want?”
Vance, well aware that telling Gibbs the name wouldn’t matter, went on, “They want a share of your case. They’re saying that they have jurisdiction since it involves the Colombians, arms, and drugs. I told them we have jurisdiction because all the perps seem to be Navy, our vic was Navy, and they hurt Ducky.” He bit down on a toothpick to keep from grinding his teeth.
“How well did that go over?” Gibbs didn’t much care as, no matter what anyone said, the case was his.
“Not that well. But I managed to stave them off by offering to share information.” He smirked at Gibbs’ huff. “Don’t huff at me. I got a lot more than I gave. It’s on its way to McGee as we speak.”
Gibbs thought about that for a sec, “Come on, I’ll buy. McGee will have something by the time we get back.”
It took them about five minutes to walk to the coffee shop, at a pace that left Vance panting. Gibbs looked amused as he said, “Might want to look into some exercise.”
Leon just snorted, “Shut up.”
They ordered their coffee and Gibbs ordered one for both Tim and Ned. Vance insisted on paying.
Leon was on the horns of a dilemma. He knew that Gibbs was very tight-fisted when it came to his cases, but they had to share if they wanted the FBI to share back. And the FBI wanted the case; they were selfish about such things. He grumbled, “Who would have thought that one of the prime agencies would be so bad about sharing recognition. Seriously.”
Gibbs just shrugged. “Fifteen minutes of fame. If you’re not constantly in the public eye, they tend to forget you. FBI is well aware of that and cares desperately. We’re more about actually gettin’ the job done. Forget them, I’ll handle it.”
Leon grimaced. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Oh, hell. They get what they deserve.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t look good for us when you insult reporters to their faces.” Leon remembered the last interview Gibbs had been present at; it hadn’t been pretty.
“If they act like fools, they get treated like fools. Would it kill them to wait their turn?” Gibbs was of the opinion that raising your hand and waiting to be recognized worked a lot better than screaming in someone’s face.
Leon Vance, Director of NCIS, shook his head. “The jerks don’t have a clue. Never heard of Robert’s Rules of Order, and wouldn’t observe them if they did. The only reason my press conferences don’t descend into chaos is, I don’t let them. If someone is really out of hand, they have to leave ... with help, if necessary.” He nodded once. “And that’s why I should handle the interviews.”
“Fine, then. Have it your way.” Gibbs grinned at his friend, “I don’t mind in the least.”
Vance eyed Gibbs. “I’ve been managed, haven’t I?”
Gibbs just looked smug and drank coffee.
.
Tim eyed the email and decided that NCIS had gotten the best of the deal. The spreadsheet detailed which ship had been in what port when drugs or arms had entered. It seemed that three ships were involved, but something wasn’t quite adding up. He just had to figure out what it was.
Ned eyed his own copy of the spreadsheet for a moment then said, “There has to be a commonality, but I’m not seeing it. Maybe Gibbs?”
Tim nodded. “We just present what we’ve got and let AJ, or maybe Remy? Anyway, someone will see what we’re not. That’s why we’re so good at what we do. Diversity of experience.”
Ned agreed, “And that’s why I’m enjoying working in the Temporary Assigned Duty pool. I get to work with every team and I’ve even been seconded to other offices. I actually got to work with Dwane Pride in New Orleans. That was interesting.” He sighed. “And the food? Man, I gained three pounds.”
They were laughing softly when Gibbs returned.
“I hope you’ve found something.” He gave Ned a warning glance.
Tim just put both spreadsheets up on the monitors. “We sorta do. But ... well, something’s not clicking, so we waited for you.”
Ned did the presentation so that Tim could analyze without being distracted. Gibbs looked the whole mess over, but nothing clicked for him either. He swore, then sat down at his desk to go over the spreadsheet in detail, again.
.
Tony eyed the CWO that he was interviewing. The man was being uncooperative. He wasn’t refusing to answer questions, he was just giving the bare minimum of information. It was like pulling teeth.
“Okay, man, what is your malfunction? There’s drugs and guns coming into the country from Colombia. We’re trying to find out how, and you’re not helping. PO Reynolds murdered PO Jackson over it. We need to find Reynolds. We need to shut down the pipeline. So what the actual fuck?”
CWO Adams shrugged, looking embarrassed. “We ... I thought I was protecting a shipmate from a bad charge. Prove your claims.”
Tony just brought up a report on his phone and handed it over. CWO Adams read quickly then handed the phone back. He rubbed his face with both hands then said, “Well, shit. This sucks.” He actually put his head down on the table.
Tony left him alone while he worked his way through the problem.
“Okay. Let me talk to the men. We were told ... by CWO Nix ... that the charges were unsubstantiated and this is just a fishing expedition. Might want to put Nix on the spot.”
“Great. Thanks, man. Spread the word.” Tony sighed, “And I need to speak to your CO. Sorry.”
“No, Ltcmdr, I’ll take the heat. I deserve it. I listened to scuttlebutt instead of common sense.”
While CWO Adams was sorting himself, Tony checked in with Remy, Dean, and Cos.
Since Remy was checking manifests and various logs, he wasn’t having much trouble. On the other hand, Dean and Cos were being stonewalled just like he was. He told Dean and Cos to send their interviews to a wardroom the Captain had put aside for them. All the men and women they were interested in were to be gathered there so that Captain Hennessy could speak to them. He hoped that would grease the wheels a bit.
It didn’t take long for the Captain to rip them all a new one and inform them that they were all on report. He also ordered them to cooperate or wind up in the brig. CWO Nix turned out to be UA.
Tony called the Shore Patrol and ordered them to find and arrest him. He had a feeling that Nix was their key to finding Reynolds. This whole case was one giant SNAFU.
After talking to Shore Patrol, Tony turned back to his interviews, only to find that the Captain had ordered everyone to write down anything they knew, keep it short, and make sure it was truthful. Everyone was industriously scribbling when he looked.
“Well, thanks for that. We’re getting nowhere fast and I want this fuckwad bad.”
“I heard. Don’t know Dr. Mallard personally, but I’ve heard really good things. He really talk to the ... er.”
“DBs. And, yes, he does. He says that, as he expects them to speak to him, it’s only fair.” He noticed the expression on the Captain’s face and added, “Not actually. He says that they speak to him via the evidence on them. Kinda creepy until you think about it.”
Captain Hennessy thought for a moment, then brightened, “I see. Makes sense, sorta.”
“Yeah, Ducky’s an original. Really good ME, old as fuck, sharp as a new blade. You’re not sneaking anything by him.” Tony glanced at the door and saw Remy, Dean, and Cos slip in. “Hey.”
Remy shrugged, “Got a bunch a’ information an’ not sure exactly what any a’ it means. Need Digimon to go over it.”
Cos scowled at a woman who ducked her head, flushing heavily. “No one is being much help. They’re all stonewalling like mad. Someone told them ... something to put them against us. Don’t like it.”
Tony explained the situation quickly, ending, “So ... SP is looking for Nix. We’re looking for Nix and Reynolds. We’re looking for the connection between the smuggling, the murder and ... everything else. Sucks to be us.”
“Not really. But I’d really like a gyros.”
No one even blinked at that. They’d all been dreaming of that special meal they wanted when they got back. They’d put it all on hold for now.
It wasn’t long before the Captain was collecting the written interviews; he handed the pile to Tony, then announced, “Your leaves are cancelled until Ltcmdr DiNozzo says otherwise. Hold yourselves available for more questions.” He saluted. All the occupants of the room stood and saluted. “Dismissed.” The group split into crew and SEAL. The crew members left, the SEALs stayed. “Gentlemen.”
Tony settled at the conference table and waved a hand. “Coffee?”
A Culinary Specialist entered with a tray; he went to a sideboard and started making coffee. “It’ll be ready in a moment. Cream? Sugar?”
Tony shook his head. “Virgin.”
Remy, Dean and Cos winced as one. Taking his coffee black indicated that Tony didn’t feel like he was on home ground. This was, as Abby would say, “So not good.”
The Specialist handed mugs around, then poured coffee. Since they all took it black, the Specialist put the pot back on the warmer, locked it in, then left, after telling them that he was available if needed.
Captain Hennessy started the review by saying, “I’m sorry that Nix caused you trouble. He’s ... problematical. Good sailor, but does tend to stir shit for his own amusement ... and he’s not what I’d call career material. I really think he only enlisted to stay out of some sort of legal trouble. You know we don’t take service-in-lieu-of-sentence enlistments anymore, but some judges will let minor stuff slide if they find out that the perp has enlisted. So ... wonder if that points to anything?”
Tony wondered too. “I would like to know what the pending charges were.” Remy made a note. “Tim can find out.”
They went over all the interviews together; the Captain had a vested interest in knowing what his crew was up to. Finally, Tony slapped most of them together and stood up. “Well, that’s that. The interviews we’ve left for you, you can deal with. The rest, we might call in for more questioning.” He smirked at Captain Hennessy. “Serves ‘em right to lose their liberty. Stonewalling us because some CWO spread scuttlebutt.” He made a face, saluted and turned on his heel. Dean, Cos, and Remy followed suit, and they were gone.
On the way back to the Yard they discussed what they wanted to eat. Tony was, as usual, all for Italian. Dean wanted Chinese, while Cos wanted Greek. Remy longed for New Orleans style Gumbo, Dirty Rice and Beans, and cornbread.
.
Gibbs greeted all the SEALs with a grimace. “Come take a look at this. We’re missing something.”
Tony, Remy, Cos, and Dean gathered in front of the big screen and listened as Tim gave his presentation again.
Tony frowned then asked, “Any crewman, or woman, on any of those ships at the times in question? Someone high enough up the ladder to be loadmaster?”
Tim typed for a moment then said, “Okay. We’ve got the connection. There’s a group of POs that rotated between the three ships on a regular basis. Not that uncommon. They are ... PO Jackson, PO Reynolds, CWO Nix and WO Samson ... And ... we have a problem. Of the eight men, four are missing within the last 48. Two from duty stations, one from a resort, and one from home. Someone’s doing some housecleaning.”
Gibbs asked, “You think it’s Reynolds?”
Remy frowned, “Might be, but he seems to be more the impulsive type. I think a higher-up caught wind of that mess and decided that the whole lot of them needed to go.”
Gibbs eyed the mess, then ordered, “Send everything we’ve got to the FBI and demand all intel they’ve got. We’ve got a window of opportunity that’s going to close on us as soon as the top dog finds Reynolds. As to the rest of it ...” He scowled. “I’ve been informed that it’s out of our wheelhouse.”
Tony nodded and sat down at his desk to send all their intel to the FBI agent in charge of their end of the investigation. Sharing like this grated on him, but he knew that the case was too big to play keep-away with. He was well aware that the FBI didn’t play well with others, but they had more resources in the civilian world. NCIS had more resources in the military.
Gibbs glanced around. It was late; they’d done all they could. Their analysis of the intel was done, turned over to the FBI, and vetted. Now all they could do was wait while various departments did their thing. They could stay and go over old ground, but Gibbs had finally learned that tired people made mistakes, and forcing Tim and Tony to do all the research and data collation, and then go out and run down a warm body just wasted resources better utilized elsewhere.
He grumbled when Remy, Dean, and Cos trotted in, with Remy announcing happily, “Got written reports from all Jackson’s and Reynolds’ shift-mates. Happy reading.” He passed a pile to everyone, keeping one for himself. The SEALs had already read them, but a second reading wouldn’t hurt.
Tim gave a whimper, which he would deny, but started reading. Ned shrugged, opened a new spreadsheet just in case, and began to read. Gibbs got out a new pen, a highlighter, and a red pencil and followed his companions into the depths of bad grammar, hideous spelling, and textspeak. He actually had what Tim called a cheat sheet for it.
It took them an hour to read through all the reports. They supported the evidence they’d already gathered; in fact, one of them provided the clue they needed as to how it was being done. The loadmaster was distracted by one of the men, while another just brought a box aboard. It was stashed in the hold in an out-of-the-way spot. They snuck it out the same way.
Tim sighed. “So we know how and who. Where did the stuff come from?”
Gibbs stretched. “That’s actually not our concern. We get the murder, feebs get the smuggling. Unless the arms came from the Navy or Marines.” He frowned over that for a moment. “I doubt that. The pieces we recovered were all civilian. The drugs are Colombian, so they get the investigation on that part. Pisses me off, but I’ve learned to cut my losses. They’ll do what they do. Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.” He gathered his things. “We’ll go get food, then come back. By then we should have some results on whatever Tim’s runnin’. Right?”
Tim glanced at his timers, then sighed. “Probably not. Some of my searches are actually being run by the FBI. Their computers have more power, and they have connections that NCIS doesn’t have. We’ll have to grit our teeth and be patient. I’ve got a BOLO out on Reynolds. We didn’t have eyes on him when he took off, and there aren’t any CCTV cameras in that vicinity, so we’re fucked until someone gets eyes on him.”
“Damn! Well, nothing to be done about it now. Let’s go.” Gibbs tucked his sidearm into his holster, put on the jacket he wore to hide it, and headed for the elevator. The rest of the Pod followed like ducklings after their dam.
They were all relieved to find that someone had had the good sense to bring Tony’s Hummer and park it in his space. No one looked forward to musical cars; it was a pain. Dean, Cos, Tony, Remy, and Gibbs had very broad shoulders for their size; Tim and Jimmy weren’t that narrow-shouldered either, and Ducky hated to be crowded, so shoulder room was a real concern… except in the Hummer.
Jimmy showed up with Ducky in tow. “We need to get food soon.”
Ducky nodded. “I’m starved. Jimmy has done three autopsies to my two. And my head is pounding.”
Tony counted heads. “Okay, everyone is here. Jimmy, get out the can please.” The can was a one-pound coffee can with poker chips in it. Each chip matched with a seat in the Hummer; this kept arguments over who sat where to a minimum. But Ducky always got shotgun.
No one complained about the draw this time; they were all hungry, and not in the mood. Everyone was a bit grumpy, the SEALs because they’d gone directly from a fucked-up combat situation to another SNAFU, and the NCIS group because they were frustrated at the lack of progress. They all needed food and sleep.
Dean grumbled, “I swear this case is going nowhere fast. We’ve lost our murderer ...”
Cos bitched, “That’s right. How the hell did we get shanghaied into this Tango Foxtrot?”
Gibbs knew all the complaining was just frustration, so he let them all bitch and whine for a while. Finally, he called an end to it. “Alright! Enough! We’ll come back to it tomorrow. Hopefully Tim’s work will get us a lead to Reynolds, and we can snatch that jackwad up. He’ll be able to tell us who his boss is. That’s the guy who ordered the cleanup. We need him too. So forget about it all for now. Where the hell do we eat?”
Tony announced, “Italian. Carmine’s is really good and not that far. Or there’s Osteria Morini on Water street. It’s about six blocks the other way. And I’m not movin’ a foot until we decide.”
Dean snorted, “No way. The Source ... Chinese by Wolfgang Puck. How could you go wrong?”
Cos nearly talked over him. “Nostose. It’s really good.”
Gibbs vetoed that, saying, “No, that’s clear over in Vienna. Too far.”
Remy offered, “There’s The Warehouse. Cajun and Creole food and it’s only about half a mile from GHQ.”
Tim sighed, “I don’t care. Food, good, not too expensive.”
Chapter two
Cos eyed his phone. “Got two bars. I’ll wait until I’ve got four before I try anything. What number should I call?”
Tony thought for a moment then said, “Try the local contact first. If that fails, which I’d bet you real money it will, try the NCIS agent in Juffair. If we had sat link I’d say just call Belt. Might be able to get a direct connection through Juffair but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
The next check showed five bars, so Cos hit speed dial and waited. He got a connection and they lucked out, the desk had been given instructions, via Director Vance, to patch them through to the Air Force base. It didn’t take five minutes to get coordinates for an immediate pickup.
Dean offered, “It’s only three klicks North. I’d say cake walk, but I’m not jinxin’ us.”
They were half way there when Cos’s phone vibrated. The man on the other end was apologetic but told them that there was activity at their pickup point so they needed to go to the secondary point which was about two klicks east of their current position. So they humped it in the new direction.
They were now at the secondary pick up point and he could hear the chopper. He was hoping for an eventless extraction but… hope in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.
Dean and Cos were sacked out on each other despite the heat. Everyone was tired, pissed and worried. Remy was watching the other 180 from Tony.
Cos twitched, poked Dean then grumbled, “Better be our bird. I’m tired a’ this.”
Tony agreed adding, “And I’m gonna find out who was responsible for this goat rope and run ’im into the ground. He’s gonna be doin’ PT until he drops.”
The chopper landed and the door opened. “Someone call for a ride?”
“Bet your ass. Thanks, man.”
They all clambered into the chopper and settled in. The airman closed the door and they took off.
.
Ducky woke up when Jimmy patted his foot. “Yes?”
“Concussion check.” Jimmy went through all the checks, patiently listening while Ducky grumbled. When he was done he just said, “Now you know how AJ feels. Go back to sleep.”
Ducky pulled the covers back up and went to sleep again. He knew the next check was in four hours but he was used to waking at odd hours so it wasn’t that much of a problem.
The next check went much like the first only Ducky glanced at his clock and realized that it was 0600. He was used to getting up at that hour anyway, so he got up and dressed. He was downstairs making tea when Tim came looking for him.
“Ducky?”
“Yes? Tea?” He held up the pot.
“Yeah, I’ll have a cup with you. How’re you feelin’?”
“Good, good. Head still aches a bit, but other than some stiffness, I’m fine.”
Jimmy entered, yawning and scratching. “Morning. Tea?”
“The water is on the boil just now.” Ducky picked up the kettle and poured water into the pot; he swirled it around then dumped it into the sink. He dumped the ready measured leaves into the pot, then added water. “There. I’ll just pop the cozy on and we’ll have tea.”
Gibbs grumbled, “And coffee.”
Ducky just smirked and poured the last of the water into a press pot. “Deal with that yourself, Grumpy.”
Gibbs chuckled as he stirred the grounds in the pot. He took a deep breath. “Smells good. Thanks.”
They settled at the table to drink their coffee or tea and decide what they wanted for breakfast.
Ducky was of the opinion that they all ought to have oatmeal; everyone else was of the opinion that Ducky could have it but they wanted something else… anything else.
Tim finally got up and said, “Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs. You want something else, make it. Ducky, I’ll make your oatmeal.”
Ducky chuckled softly. “Very well, thank you.”
Tim put the bowl of oatmeal into the microwave. Tony had started making it in the rice cooker and storing about a week’s worth in the fridge. Ducky ate a bowl almost every morning, claimed it kept him regular, which made everyone snicker.
As the oatmeal warmed, Tim started cracking eggs. Jimmy ambled over, dug out a frying pan, and started putting bacon in it.
Tim asked, “Don’t you need to heat the pan first?”
“No; if you put cold bacon into a hot pan, it’ll do two things. First, it’ll spatter and pop; second, it’ll shrink like the dickens. So cold pan, cold meat.” Jimmy turned on the heat then got out of the way so Tim could put another pan on for the eggs.
It wasn’t long before they had eggs, bacon, toast, and more coffee.
Gibbs accepted his plate with a ‘thank you’. Ducky also thanked Tim for his oatmeal.
Tim always thought that plain oatmeal was wallpaper paste masquerading as food, so he dressed it up. This time it was dried cranberries, cream, and honey, with just a dash of cinnamon.
While they ate, they discussed what they knew of the case. It wasn’t that much. PO Reynolds had murdered PO Jackson because of either money or drugs, or both. Where the money and drugs had come from was one question; the guns could be accounted for easily. Where the drugs were going was another question.
Jimmy offered, “Neither one of them was a user, and that’s a bit unusual. Both had residue on their fingers. Abby amended my report; she also found lots of gunpowder residue on both of them.”
Gibbs scowled. “And how do you know that?”
“She stayed in the lab until she finished her tests ... at about 2230 ... emailed me the results. I read them this morning, first thing.”
“Oh. She send anyone else this?”
Tim nodded. “She sent me a full copy of the report to my phone. I haven’t read it all yet; just the highlights.” He piled eggs on his toast, then crammed it into his mouth. “Mmm.” He swallowed a bit convulsively then continued. “I need to get in fairly quickly, my results should be in by 0830.”
Gibbs crunched his last strip of bacon ―Ducky had stolen a couple― then said, “We’ll leave as soon as I’m done cleaning up.” He stuffed the last of his eggs and toast into his mouth and took his plate to the dishwasher. “If we can follow the money, we’ll learn something.”
Tim blinked for a second then asked, “Is that a movie reference?”
Gibbs gave him bitch face as he asked, “Movie? Seriously?”
Jimmy poked Tim in the shoulder. “Probably not, dumb ass.”
“Well, that’s Jerry Maguire, 1996; Tom Cruise and Cuba Gooding, Jr. with ... um ... Renee Zellweger. I think.” Tim finished his food and tea. He handed his dishes to Gibbs. “Thanks, Jet.”
Fifteen minutes later they were headed back to NCIS.
Gibbs drove in his company car with Tim, and Ducky rode with Jimmy. It didn’t take them long to get through the checkpoint and into the parking garage. Jimmy didn’t offer to help Ducky, but he kept an eye on his friend, just in case.
They rode up to Autopsy, where Ducky and Jimmy got off; the squad room was two floors above that. The second Gibbs and Tim exited the elevator, Tim headed for his desk and a beeping computer. Someone yelled, “Glad you’re here, that damn thing started beeping about five minutes ago.”
Tim yelled back, “Well, you know how to turn it off,” then sat down to check his results, ignoring the grumbled, “Yeah, touch your desk? No thanks.” It was well known that the usually mild mannered Tim McGee would mess you up if you touched his computers.
Gibbs just barked, “Damn it, wha’do ya got?”
Tim clicked his mouse, then said, “Traced the guns ... or some of them. They were sold to three different men at a gun show in ... never mind. They aren’t re-registered, but the dumb asses paid with either a check or credit card. The finances all point to Colombian contacts. There’s a new group called the Black Hand. Reference to Sherlock Holmes that you don’t care about, but it might lead to something.” He turned to his keyboard and entered some search parameters, then went back to his report. “I’ll run facials, but I’m not expecting much. Driver’s licenses, Navy ID, that sort of thing will show up. But ... since I don’t know what routes they might have taken to and from anywhere useful, I can’t call up security camera footage. If we could do that, we might find a contact and be able to trace them back to a higher-up. No chance.”
Gibbs sighed. “I know. Do what you can. See if someone ... Fornell ... knows anything.”
“Okay.” Tim sighed. “I wish Tony and the others would come home.”
“Me too.” Gibbs tried to get hold of Belt to see when the SEALs would be back. He got a message that said he was away from his desk, leave a message, etc. He hung up, grumbling wordlessly.
.
Tony sighed happily; the shower was lukewarm and felt wonderful. He felt like he had sand everywhere. Groans and moans from the others told their own tale. They were all glad to be back in Germany and on their way back to the States.
Dean grumbled, “Too bad Belt has already found that idiot who planned this ...CATFU mission. Wonder if there’s gonna be anything left for us?”
Cos snorted, then said, “Nope. You know that a soup sandwich brings out the DI in Belt and the CO. Bet that jackwad is mopping floors in Outer Mongolia about now.”
“Fine. But me? I want a big bowl o’ Miss Abby’s gumbo an’ some dirty rice an’ maybe some sausage pie. Yum.” Remy sighed in anticipation then began to sing a Cajun folk song.
It didn’t take them long to finish their showers and get dressed in clean BDU’s. A quick trip through the mess, and they were back on a plane headed Stateside. No one bothered to check their phones for messages; there was nothing they could do but worry.
.
Abby eyed the piles of evidence with a rather jaundiced eye. There was a lot of obvious trash, bottles and cans, pizza boxes, and Chinese takeout containers. She had managed to convince legal that takeout was way down the list of useful evidence. With a sigh she started sorting the mess into categories. She referred to them as “first priority,” “second priority,” “maybe,” and “holy crap, why did they even bother.” The last category was actually put aside in a bin to be tested tomorrow, and you know tomorrow never comes.
Gibbs stuck his head in the door and then eased in. Abby was in a snit and snapping at everyone. He’d come down to see what the actual problem was. “Abbs?”
“What!” Abby turned around, saw Gibbs and sighed, “Sorry. Really sorry. I’m working as fast as my babies can but ... I’m not getting much of anything. I can tell you that there were four people at the house at one time or another, but I can only identify two so far. I’m just finishing up the DNA profiles on the two unidentified people. As soon as that’s done, I’ll start running them through the Navy database and CODIS. If I fail there, I’ll try Interpol and ...” Gibbs cleared his throat. “Okay ... several others. That’ll take most of the day to process, so while that’s running, I’m going to start other tests that you’re not interested in but they’re really, really important and ... how dare that awful man hit poor Ducky! I’d like to smack him upside the head with something really hard. You’ll smack him for me, won’t you, Gibbs?”
Gibbs sighed, “Damn it, Abby, how many Caf-Pows have you had already?”
“Um ... three? Or four? Not sure. I got here at like five a.m. and started. There were results that came in then, so I just came in to check and, since I was already here, I went to work. And ... maybe I did overdo just a bit.” She held out caffeine shaky hands then clenched them into fists. “Bad. Now what?”
Gibbs took her hand. “You come up to the bullpen and sit at the guest desk and eat. Come on.” He tugged at her hand. “Now. The tests will run without you standing over them. Your health is more important than nurse-maiding this. Ducky will shake his head at you.”
Abby followed obediently saying, “Well, I am a bit hungry and I really don’t want Ducky to be disappointed in me and he will shake his head at me. I don’t like it when Ducky shakes his head at me, it’s not good. Will he be mad at me? You think he’ll be mad?”
“No, Ducky won’t be mad at you, nor disappointed. He’ll understand, but come on now. I’ll send Dorney out to get you a breakfast burrito.”
Gibbs pulled Abby into the elevator, punched the button for the squad room level, and waited for the doors to open again.
He maneuvered her into the chair at the guest desk and ordered, “Stay!” then turned to Ned Dorneget. “Ned, go to the burrito place and get us all a burrito. Abby’s had three or four Giant Gulp Caf-Pows already. Go.”
Ned gave Abby a wide-eyed look, then scurried for the elevator, shaking his head. “On it, Boss.”
.
Now back State-side, Tony decided to check his phone.
A few moments later Tony eyed his phone with an expression that, should that device have been sentient, would have sent it running. He’d finally decided that it was safe to check his messages; he was rethinking that.
He wasn’t the only one; the scowls on the faces of all the SEALs made a Midshipman do an about face and head in the opposite direction.
Tony let loose with a tirade of swearing, curses, and threats that actually brought Shore Patrol on the run. The rest of the SEALs were no better, only a bit quieter.
The WO in charge of the Shore Patrol team approached carefully; there was no telling what had brought about this explosion from a team fresh from combat. “Sir? What’s the problem? Can we help?”
Tony was abruptly aware that they were scaring the “children.” “Sorry. We all just got some bad news. Some jackwad knocked a friend of ours down. He’s ... like seventy-something ... pissed us off. Sorry for the upset. We’ll tone it down.”
WO Cobb relaxed. “Okay. Just keep it down.”
Tony looked around; they were standing in a clear spot nearly ten feet in diameter. “Damn. We look that bad?”
“BAMF all the way, dude. Where you headed?”
“DC. Ride’s on the way. We’ll just...” He gestured vaguely. “Yeah.”
WO Cobb shrugged. “Come with us. You’re not in any trouble, but we’ll get you somewhere to meet your ride. Out of line of sight of the civvies and ... whoever.”
All the spectators drew a sigh of relief when the small group gathered up their rucks and followed the contingent of SP’s down a hall and out of sight.
They went to a small lounge that was obviously for the employees. WO Cobb pointed. “Coffee’s good. There’s no food except for the machines. If you need to make a land-line call, dial #3 then the number. I better get back on the floor.” He smiled, then hurried out.
Tony rubbed his face with one hand. “Well, shit. Fuck.”
Cos said, “I’ll call Jimmy for a real update; everyone else shut the fuck up.”
Tony nodded. “Put it on speaker.”
“That’s why I’m callin’. My phone has the loudest one.” Cos dialed, punched the speaker icon, and waited.
“Palmer. Who is calling please?”
“Jimmy, it’s Cos. What’s the matter with your heads-up?”
“Nothing, I just have bile on my gloves. Hit the connect with my elbow.”
“Oh. Tell us about Ducky. What the actual hell?”
Jimmy gave them a quick run-down of what had happened and Ducky’s current condition, ending, “So he’s mainly pissed. Don’t break anything getting back, but be prepared to deal with a pissed-off Jet. Tim’s not much better, Abby’s Caf-Powed out, and I’m slightly homicidal. If Vance could do it, he’d issue a shoot on sight. Gotta go. Bye.”
Cos hung up; Tony rubbed his face. “Where the fuck is our ride?”
Dean left the room, returning quickly to tell them that their ride was there. They all trooped out, tossed their rucks into the belly bins, and found a seat. Cos mumbled something about “short bus” that got him a smack on the shoulder from Remy.
Remy retaliated by picking him up and carrying him onto the bus, then dumping him in a seat. “There, homme. Sit an’ stay out a’ trouble.”
Cos shrugged. “I’m sleepin’ until we get there. We’re gonna be workin’ our asses off until something breaks in this case. No one hurts Ducky an’ gets away with it.”
The rest of the men agreed with this. The driver boarded, announced, “We’re puttin’ wheels under this. Belt up.”
Dean demanded, “You mean put on our seat belts or shut up?”
The driver replied, “Both.”
They fastened their seat belts, shut their mouths, and settled in to sleep until DC.
.
Abby greeted Ducky in Autopsy with a simple request. “Ducky! I’m so glad to see you. Are you alright? I need some samples, just to check. If PO Jackson was using, that’d be a reason that PO Reynolds might get pissed at him, so I need some blood. Jimmy did a good job with the report, but he didn’t draw any samples. I need them ... like ... now. Okay?”
Jimmy, who was right behind Ducky, got a bit irritated. “I brought you a complete set of samples. You told me to put them in the fridge. And I did ... right in front in the lab fridge. So don’t say I put them in the wrong one. I put them in the one I always do.” He took a deep breath, ready to defend himself.
Abby had other ideas. “What? I checked before I came down. I’ll go back and check again but if you’re sending me on a wild goose chase ... well, that dog won’t hunt.” She trotted out, scowling, to recheck.
Ducky sighed and sat down at his desk. “Well, she certainly has had too much Caf-Pow.”
Jimmy nodded. “She has. Vance limited her to two cups a day ... but he only thinks in ... standards. She’s been drinking two Double Big Gulps; that’s ... um ... one is somewhere around 96 ounces.”
Ducky frowned. “I’d really like to get a kidney function on that woman. That much caffeine and sugar can’t be good for her. Not to mention the wear and tear on her nerves.”
Jimmy agreed. “Seriously. Since I cut out soda, I don’t get near as much indigestion but ... I think Abby drinks diet. And that’s not that good for her either, as artificial sweeteners have their own hazards.”
They agreed that, if Abby continued to abuse herself with Caf-Pow, they’d have to tell Gibbs.
After that short conversation, they turned to the next autopsy they needed to do. Ducky settled in to watch and kibitz while Jimmy did the actual work. Ducky was very happy with Jimmy’s work and was more and more easing him into the actual work while he advised and evaluated the findings. He was getting old, after all, or older. And he had several papers he wanted to write.
.
When they reached the outskirts of DC Metro, the driver pulled over in a parking lot, woke them, and asked, “Okay, we’re in DC Metro. Where, exactly, do you want to go?”
Tony took a quick head count then said, “Who wants to go home first?” Everyone indicated that they did. “Okay. Mallard Manor is closest, then GHQ. I’ll be headed in to the Yard as soon as I get cleaned up. I expect to see you all there within the hour.”
The driver didn’t care where he went first se he informed them that, “I get paid by the mile. You wanna go to Chicago? I’m your man. So ... addresses.”
Tony gave him the addresses and sat back in his seat. He was a bit disgusted to realize that no one had thought to give the driver more than DC as an address.
After consulting his GPS the driver announced, “Okay, that first address is an hour out, and then twenty minutes to the second.”
When Tony was dropped off he got his ruck and trotted inside. It didn’t take him long to empty his ruck, sort his clothing into clean and dirty, then drop the dirty in the laundry room. He was a bit amused to see that his clean pile contained a pair of boxers and two t-shirts.
“I swear, doesn’t matter how many pairs of socks I take, I run out. And clean pants? Really.” He complained to himself. Gathering what he needed, he went to shower, shave, and make himself decent.
.
Things were going about as expected at GHQ. Dean was bitching about not having anything clean, Cos was explaining to him that, if he’d do his laundry before he was damn near naked, this wouldn’t happen… all at the same time. Remy just ignored both of them and went to shower. He wasn’t amused to find that he didn’t have anything much clean either. He grumbled, “An’ why we t’ink it good idea t’ take every last stitch a’ clothin’ we got, I’ll never know.”
And why none of them had done laundry before leaving, no one knew either. They all had civvies, but since they were going on a case, they wanted uniforms. This was serious to all of them, and, as the saying goes, rank hath its privileges.
Remy called Tony, “AJ. What we wearin’? I got nothing but blacks clean. Bit formal?”
Tony, who was already in blacks, said, “Blacks it is. I’m leavin’ in five.”
“On your six. We’re puttin’ wheels under this in ten.”
.
They arrived at about the same time, checked through, and headed upstairs.
Tony knew that agents were pressing themselves against the walls to let them by, but he didn’t care. He ordered, “Autopsy first. See Ducky for ourselves, then on up.”
“Sir!” Dean, Cos, and Remy weren’t about to argue, none of them would feel comfortable until they’d seen their friend for themselves.
At first glance Ducky looked fine, but when he turned to greet them the damage was obvious. Ducky’s face had bloomed into one of those bruises that looks bad and feels worse. The bruising was centered low on his temple, surrounding the cut. It covered half his face from forehead to jawline and was all the colors a bruise could be.
Tony and crew went from a bit annoyed to flamin’ pissed in a split second.
“Damn it, Ducky. We got a perp? Where is he?”
Ducky chuckled, “I saw the man, but we already had an ID. The only reason I was there, with Jimmy, I might add, is that Gibbs went with Tim and Ned to arrest our DB and our perp for ... something. Not entirely sure exactly what, but they found PO Jackson dead, and PO Reynolds knocked me down whilst evading arrest. Now, I’m fine; go help Jet before he ruptures something.”
Jimmy nodded. “Go, go. I’ve got my eye on him.” He tapped one forefinger beneath his eye with a wink then waved them away.
Tony eyed them both for a moment, then said, “Call if you need anything,” and with that, they were gone.
.
Gibbs didn’t even look up when the elevator door opened; he just pointed to Tim’s desk and said, “Tim and Dorney got on it. No results yet. Someone’s blocking us. AJ, see if you can’t call someone and find something out. You squids are going to go interview all his friends on base. Go, I want something by 1700 ... latest.”
No one argued that they’d just got in, nor that they didn’t know who his friends were. Tony looked at Tim. “Email me a list.”
“On it.” Tim clattered at his keyboard for a moment, then Tony’s phone beeped.
“Got it.” The whole team of SEALs turned around and walked back into the elevator and disappeared when the doors closed.
Gibbs was headed out for a cup of coffee; as he entered the elevator, Vance joined him. “Got a call from FBI Director―”
Gibbs didn’t care about the name so he interrupted, “What do the feebs want?”
Vance, well aware that telling Gibbs the name wouldn’t matter, went on, “They want a share of your case. They’re saying that they have jurisdiction since it involves the Colombians, arms, and drugs. I told them we have jurisdiction because all the perps seem to be Navy, our vic was Navy, and they hurt Ducky.” He bit down on a toothpick to keep from grinding his teeth.
“How well did that go over?” Gibbs didn’t much care as, no matter what anyone said, the case was his.
“Not that well. But I managed to stave them off by offering to share information.” He smirked at Gibbs’ huff. “Don’t huff at me. I got a lot more than I gave. It’s on its way to McGee as we speak.”
Gibbs thought about that for a sec, “Come on, I’ll buy. McGee will have something by the time we get back.”
It took them about five minutes to walk to the coffee shop, at a pace that left Vance panting. Gibbs looked amused as he said, “Might want to look into some exercise.”
Leon just snorted, “Shut up.”
They ordered their coffee and Gibbs ordered one for both Tim and Ned. Vance insisted on paying.
Leon was on the horns of a dilemma. He knew that Gibbs was very tight-fisted when it came to his cases, but they had to share if they wanted the FBI to share back. And the FBI wanted the case; they were selfish about such things. He grumbled, “Who would have thought that one of the prime agencies would be so bad about sharing recognition. Seriously.”
Gibbs just shrugged. “Fifteen minutes of fame. If you’re not constantly in the public eye, they tend to forget you. FBI is well aware of that and cares desperately. We’re more about actually gettin’ the job done. Forget them, I’ll handle it.”
Leon grimaced. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Oh, hell. They get what they deserve.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t look good for us when you insult reporters to their faces.” Leon remembered the last interview Gibbs had been present at; it hadn’t been pretty.
“If they act like fools, they get treated like fools. Would it kill them to wait their turn?” Gibbs was of the opinion that raising your hand and waiting to be recognized worked a lot better than screaming in someone’s face.
Leon Vance, Director of NCIS, shook his head. “The jerks don’t have a clue. Never heard of Robert’s Rules of Order, and wouldn’t observe them if they did. The only reason my press conferences don’t descend into chaos is, I don’t let them. If someone is really out of hand, they have to leave ... with help, if necessary.” He nodded once. “And that’s why I should handle the interviews.”
“Fine, then. Have it your way.” Gibbs grinned at his friend, “I don’t mind in the least.”
Vance eyed Gibbs. “I’ve been managed, haven’t I?”
Gibbs just looked smug and drank coffee.
.
Tim eyed the email and decided that NCIS had gotten the best of the deal. The spreadsheet detailed which ship had been in what port when drugs or arms had entered. It seemed that three ships were involved, but something wasn’t quite adding up. He just had to figure out what it was.
Ned eyed his own copy of the spreadsheet for a moment then said, “There has to be a commonality, but I’m not seeing it. Maybe Gibbs?”
Tim nodded. “We just present what we’ve got and let AJ, or maybe Remy? Anyway, someone will see what we’re not. That’s why we’re so good at what we do. Diversity of experience.”
Ned agreed, “And that’s why I’m enjoying working in the Temporary Assigned Duty pool. I get to work with every team and I’ve even been seconded to other offices. I actually got to work with Dwane Pride in New Orleans. That was interesting.” He sighed. “And the food? Man, I gained three pounds.”
They were laughing softly when Gibbs returned.
“I hope you’ve found something.” He gave Ned a warning glance.
Tim just put both spreadsheets up on the monitors. “We sorta do. But ... well, something’s not clicking, so we waited for you.”
Ned did the presentation so that Tim could analyze without being distracted. Gibbs looked the whole mess over, but nothing clicked for him either. He swore, then sat down at his desk to go over the spreadsheet in detail, again.
.
Tony eyed the CWO that he was interviewing. The man was being uncooperative. He wasn’t refusing to answer questions, he was just giving the bare minimum of information. It was like pulling teeth.
“Okay, man, what is your malfunction? There’s drugs and guns coming into the country from Colombia. We’re trying to find out how, and you’re not helping. PO Reynolds murdered PO Jackson over it. We need to find Reynolds. We need to shut down the pipeline. So what the actual fuck?”
CWO Adams shrugged, looking embarrassed. “We ... I thought I was protecting a shipmate from a bad charge. Prove your claims.”
Tony just brought up a report on his phone and handed it over. CWO Adams read quickly then handed the phone back. He rubbed his face with both hands then said, “Well, shit. This sucks.” He actually put his head down on the table.
Tony left him alone while he worked his way through the problem.
“Okay. Let me talk to the men. We were told ... by CWO Nix ... that the charges were unsubstantiated and this is just a fishing expedition. Might want to put Nix on the spot.”
“Great. Thanks, man. Spread the word.” Tony sighed, “And I need to speak to your CO. Sorry.”
“No, Ltcmdr, I’ll take the heat. I deserve it. I listened to scuttlebutt instead of common sense.”
While CWO Adams was sorting himself, Tony checked in with Remy, Dean, and Cos.
Since Remy was checking manifests and various logs, he wasn’t having much trouble. On the other hand, Dean and Cos were being stonewalled just like he was. He told Dean and Cos to send their interviews to a wardroom the Captain had put aside for them. All the men and women they were interested in were to be gathered there so that Captain Hennessy could speak to them. He hoped that would grease the wheels a bit.
It didn’t take long for the Captain to rip them all a new one and inform them that they were all on report. He also ordered them to cooperate or wind up in the brig. CWO Nix turned out to be UA.
Tony called the Shore Patrol and ordered them to find and arrest him. He had a feeling that Nix was their key to finding Reynolds. This whole case was one giant SNAFU.
After talking to Shore Patrol, Tony turned back to his interviews, only to find that the Captain had ordered everyone to write down anything they knew, keep it short, and make sure it was truthful. Everyone was industriously scribbling when he looked.
“Well, thanks for that. We’re getting nowhere fast and I want this fuckwad bad.”
“I heard. Don’t know Dr. Mallard personally, but I’ve heard really good things. He really talk to the ... er.”
“DBs. And, yes, he does. He says that, as he expects them to speak to him, it’s only fair.” He noticed the expression on the Captain’s face and added, “Not actually. He says that they speak to him via the evidence on them. Kinda creepy until you think about it.”
Captain Hennessy thought for a moment, then brightened, “I see. Makes sense, sorta.”
“Yeah, Ducky’s an original. Really good ME, old as fuck, sharp as a new blade. You’re not sneaking anything by him.” Tony glanced at the door and saw Remy, Dean, and Cos slip in. “Hey.”
Remy shrugged, “Got a bunch a’ information an’ not sure exactly what any a’ it means. Need Digimon to go over it.”
Cos scowled at a woman who ducked her head, flushing heavily. “No one is being much help. They’re all stonewalling like mad. Someone told them ... something to put them against us. Don’t like it.”
Tony explained the situation quickly, ending, “So ... SP is looking for Nix. We’re looking for Nix and Reynolds. We’re looking for the connection between the smuggling, the murder and ... everything else. Sucks to be us.”
“Not really. But I’d really like a gyros.”
No one even blinked at that. They’d all been dreaming of that special meal they wanted when they got back. They’d put it all on hold for now.
It wasn’t long before the Captain was collecting the written interviews; he handed the pile to Tony, then announced, “Your leaves are cancelled until Ltcmdr DiNozzo says otherwise. Hold yourselves available for more questions.” He saluted. All the occupants of the room stood and saluted. “Dismissed.” The group split into crew and SEAL. The crew members left, the SEALs stayed. “Gentlemen.”
Tony settled at the conference table and waved a hand. “Coffee?”
A Culinary Specialist entered with a tray; he went to a sideboard and started making coffee. “It’ll be ready in a moment. Cream? Sugar?”
Tony shook his head. “Virgin.”
Remy, Dean and Cos winced as one. Taking his coffee black indicated that Tony didn’t feel like he was on home ground. This was, as Abby would say, “So not good.”
The Specialist handed mugs around, then poured coffee. Since they all took it black, the Specialist put the pot back on the warmer, locked it in, then left, after telling them that he was available if needed.
Captain Hennessy started the review by saying, “I’m sorry that Nix caused you trouble. He’s ... problematical. Good sailor, but does tend to stir shit for his own amusement ... and he’s not what I’d call career material. I really think he only enlisted to stay out of some sort of legal trouble. You know we don’t take service-in-lieu-of-sentence enlistments anymore, but some judges will let minor stuff slide if they find out that the perp has enlisted. So ... wonder if that points to anything?”
Tony wondered too. “I would like to know what the pending charges were.” Remy made a note. “Tim can find out.”
They went over all the interviews together; the Captain had a vested interest in knowing what his crew was up to. Finally, Tony slapped most of them together and stood up. “Well, that’s that. The interviews we’ve left for you, you can deal with. The rest, we might call in for more questioning.” He smirked at Captain Hennessy. “Serves ‘em right to lose their liberty. Stonewalling us because some CWO spread scuttlebutt.” He made a face, saluted and turned on his heel. Dean, Cos, and Remy followed suit, and they were gone.
On the way back to the Yard they discussed what they wanted to eat. Tony was, as usual, all for Italian. Dean wanted Chinese, while Cos wanted Greek. Remy longed for New Orleans style Gumbo, Dirty Rice and Beans, and cornbread.
.
Gibbs greeted all the SEALs with a grimace. “Come take a look at this. We’re missing something.”
Tony, Remy, Cos, and Dean gathered in front of the big screen and listened as Tim gave his presentation again.
Tony frowned then asked, “Any crewman, or woman, on any of those ships at the times in question? Someone high enough up the ladder to be loadmaster?”
Tim typed for a moment then said, “Okay. We’ve got the connection. There’s a group of POs that rotated between the three ships on a regular basis. Not that uncommon. They are ... PO Jackson, PO Reynolds, CWO Nix and WO Samson ... And ... we have a problem. Of the eight men, four are missing within the last 48. Two from duty stations, one from a resort, and one from home. Someone’s doing some housecleaning.”
Gibbs asked, “You think it’s Reynolds?”
Remy frowned, “Might be, but he seems to be more the impulsive type. I think a higher-up caught wind of that mess and decided that the whole lot of them needed to go.”
Gibbs eyed the mess, then ordered, “Send everything we’ve got to the FBI and demand all intel they’ve got. We’ve got a window of opportunity that’s going to close on us as soon as the top dog finds Reynolds. As to the rest of it ...” He scowled. “I’ve been informed that it’s out of our wheelhouse.”
Tony nodded and sat down at his desk to send all their intel to the FBI agent in charge of their end of the investigation. Sharing like this grated on him, but he knew that the case was too big to play keep-away with. He was well aware that the FBI didn’t play well with others, but they had more resources in the civilian world. NCIS had more resources in the military.
Gibbs glanced around. It was late; they’d done all they could. Their analysis of the intel was done, turned over to the FBI, and vetted. Now all they could do was wait while various departments did their thing. They could stay and go over old ground, but Gibbs had finally learned that tired people made mistakes, and forcing Tim and Tony to do all the research and data collation, and then go out and run down a warm body just wasted resources better utilized elsewhere.
He grumbled when Remy, Dean, and Cos trotted in, with Remy announcing happily, “Got written reports from all Jackson’s and Reynolds’ shift-mates. Happy reading.” He passed a pile to everyone, keeping one for himself. The SEALs had already read them, but a second reading wouldn’t hurt.
Tim gave a whimper, which he would deny, but started reading. Ned shrugged, opened a new spreadsheet just in case, and began to read. Gibbs got out a new pen, a highlighter, and a red pencil and followed his companions into the depths of bad grammar, hideous spelling, and textspeak. He actually had what Tim called a cheat sheet for it.
It took them an hour to read through all the reports. They supported the evidence they’d already gathered; in fact, one of them provided the clue they needed as to how it was being done. The loadmaster was distracted by one of the men, while another just brought a box aboard. It was stashed in the hold in an out-of-the-way spot. They snuck it out the same way.
Tim sighed. “So we know how and who. Where did the stuff come from?”
Gibbs stretched. “That’s actually not our concern. We get the murder, feebs get the smuggling. Unless the arms came from the Navy or Marines.” He frowned over that for a moment. “I doubt that. The pieces we recovered were all civilian. The drugs are Colombian, so they get the investigation on that part. Pisses me off, but I’ve learned to cut my losses. They’ll do what they do. Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.” He gathered his things. “We’ll go get food, then come back. By then we should have some results on whatever Tim’s runnin’. Right?”
Tim glanced at his timers, then sighed. “Probably not. Some of my searches are actually being run by the FBI. Their computers have more power, and they have connections that NCIS doesn’t have. We’ll have to grit our teeth and be patient. I’ve got a BOLO out on Reynolds. We didn’t have eyes on him when he took off, and there aren’t any CCTV cameras in that vicinity, so we’re fucked until someone gets eyes on him.”
“Damn! Well, nothing to be done about it now. Let’s go.” Gibbs tucked his sidearm into his holster, put on the jacket he wore to hide it, and headed for the elevator. The rest of the Pod followed like ducklings after their dam.
They were all relieved to find that someone had had the good sense to bring Tony’s Hummer and park it in his space. No one looked forward to musical cars; it was a pain. Dean, Cos, Tony, Remy, and Gibbs had very broad shoulders for their size; Tim and Jimmy weren’t that narrow-shouldered either, and Ducky hated to be crowded, so shoulder room was a real concern… except in the Hummer.
Jimmy showed up with Ducky in tow. “We need to get food soon.”
Ducky nodded. “I’m starved. Jimmy has done three autopsies to my two. And my head is pounding.”
Tony counted heads. “Okay, everyone is here. Jimmy, get out the can please.” The can was a one-pound coffee can with poker chips in it. Each chip matched with a seat in the Hummer; this kept arguments over who sat where to a minimum. But Ducky always got shotgun.
No one complained about the draw this time; they were all hungry, and not in the mood. Everyone was a bit grumpy, the SEALs because they’d gone directly from a fucked-up combat situation to another SNAFU, and the NCIS group because they were frustrated at the lack of progress. They all needed food and sleep.
Dean grumbled, “I swear this case is going nowhere fast. We’ve lost our murderer ...”
Cos bitched, “That’s right. How the hell did we get shanghaied into this Tango Foxtrot?”
Gibbs knew all the complaining was just frustration, so he let them all bitch and whine for a while. Finally, he called an end to it. “Alright! Enough! We’ll come back to it tomorrow. Hopefully Tim’s work will get us a lead to Reynolds, and we can snatch that jackwad up. He’ll be able to tell us who his boss is. That’s the guy who ordered the cleanup. We need him too. So forget about it all for now. Where the hell do we eat?”
Tony announced, “Italian. Carmine’s is really good and not that far. Or there’s Osteria Morini on Water street. It’s about six blocks the other way. And I’m not movin’ a foot until we decide.”
Dean snorted, “No way. The Source ... Chinese by Wolfgang Puck. How could you go wrong?”
Cos nearly talked over him. “Nostose. It’s really good.”
Gibbs vetoed that, saying, “No, that’s clear over in Vienna. Too far.”
Remy offered, “There’s The Warehouse. Cajun and Creole food and it’s only about half a mile from GHQ.”
Tim sighed, “I don’t care. Food, good, not too expensive.”