Presenting Abby Chapter 3
Merry Christmas!
Here's the last chapter of this story.
Ch 3
Morning came and with it came the text that they should be at the formal breakfast by 0900.
Abby announced to her room. “And why didn’t they send us all a schedule? This is ridiculous.”
Ducky wasn’t real happy about it either. He was of the opinion that the organizers needed an organizer.
Tim and Jimmy agreed that they just hoped that the food was good. Tim had grumbled, “Fat chance. It’s sure to be the breakfast equivalent of Chicken a la King.”
Jimmy sighed, “Probably right, but hope springs eternal. Let’s go.”
The breakfast turned out to be the first event in the whole program. And just as bad as Tim had predicted.
First, the seating was those uncomfortable orange plastic nightmares that were most venues’ idea of proper chairs. Second, the coffee was weak as dishwater, and there was no tea. Third, every person who had anything to do with organizing the convention made a speech.
Abby moaned softly, then grumbled, “I hate this. I’m hungry, and there’s two more people who are making speeches. Drivel mostly. I wish they’d hurry up.”
Tim, seated near a door, eyed it. “I think we can sneak out that door. Wanna try?”
Ducky frowned, then announced, “I’m not sneaking out. I’m just getting up and leaving. Weak bladder, don’t you know?” And with that, he got up and ambled toward the restrooms, smiling in that genial way of his.
Jimmy just followed him, ruck in hand. Jimmy had declared that he wasn’t going anywhere without his ruck and he meant it.
Abby and Tim used their distraction to slip out the nearby door. They found that it let into a utility corridor, so called because it kept the necessary housekeeping functions out of eyesight.
“Oh, goody. We can sneak into the kitchens and see if breakfast is worth the trouble.” Abby trotted in the direction of the smells.
Tim followed, saying, “Let me call Jimmy and see where he and Ducky are. I’ll arrange a meet.”
“Okay.” Abby stuck her head around the door to the kitchens and sighed. “Oh. My. God. They… look.” She pulled back to allow Tim to see into the kitchen.
Whoever had planned this mess obviously didn’t understand the theory of aging food. In other words, you can only hold food so long before it starts to taste off, turn runny, or curdle; it ages out.
So, the food for breakfast had been cooked in advance. It would have been fine, if they hadn’t allowed everyone and his dog to give a speech. Now, food that would have been fine with an opening speech and a few words from an organizer was inedible, having been held for over an hour.
Tim eyed the pans and said, “No way am I subjecting myself to… that.” He slipped in, poked a few things then returned to Abby’s side. “The cheese sauce is curdled and the gravy separated. No. Just… no. I’ll call Jimmy.”
He called and put his phone on speaker. “Ducky? Jimmy?”
“We’re here, dear boy. What is it?”
“You won’t believe it. Or maybe you will. They’ve held the food so long I wouldn’t feed it to Butch. Let’s meet somewhere and go out.”
“Very well. We’re in the lobby, by the front doors.”
Abby nodded. “Okay. We’ll be there in ten minutes or less.” Abby looked around. “If we can figure out how to get to the front.”
Tim solved that by stopping a kitchen helper. “Excuse me. We sneaked out of the breakfast. Boring doesn’t begin to tell it. So… how do we get to the lobby?”
The helper snickered. “I hear ya, man. Longwinded doesn’t cover it. And none of those jerks are the smart ones either.”
Tim nodded. “If you can’t blind them with your brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. Front?”
“That way. Just go right, then straight. Can’t miss it. An’ I’m not kidding, there’s not another door between here and there.”
Abby slipped the guy a ten, winked and followed Tim through the door.
They were faced with a right turn, no other way to go, and a long hall that dead-ended at double doors. These doors opened behind a desk at the back of the lobby. Tim lifted the bar flap and held it while Abby walked through. He followed, shutting the flap behind him.
“Okay.” Abby looked around. “Oh! There they are.” She pointed to a small group near the front doors.
Tim followed her over to the group.
They were just in time to hear Ducky say, “Diamond merchants? How interesting.”
A short, stocky man with grizzled blond hair replied, “Yes. We have several conventions every year. We establish how many karats are to be released, who is blackballed for selling blood diamonds, and have a show of new cuts. And before you ask, the displays are all CZ’s.”
Abby shrugged. “I’m a bit of a reverse snob. If it’s pretty and sparkly, who cares? I mean, real diamonds are a great investment, holding value or even increasing. But for pretty? Doesn’t really matter.”
The man smiled. “A very smart lady. Real diamonds will get you killed. My wife doesn’t even wear a wedding ring.” Someone called out, he looked in that direction then said, “I need to go. We’re all going to breakfast together. Your group got the banquet hall before we did. Not that it makes that much difference. Your group is about four hundred to our two plus. See you.” He hurried off to join his companions.
Tim looked out a side window. “Hey! The trucks are here… some of them. Let’s go see what they’ve got.”
Abby, Jimmy and Ducky just followed him to the side door and out into the area where trucks were allowed to park. There were also, just like the night before, several carts scattered across the pavement. There weren’t as many as there would be at lunch, but the six trucks offered a wide variety of good things. Adding in the carts, there was plenty to choose from.
One truck had breakfast burritos and sausage-egg biscuits. They all headed there to see if there was a good selection, Tim also wanted fresh-made, not preassembled.
It turned out that they were fresh-made, right down to scrambling the egg in a wok. The owner cheerfully informed them that making everything at once required a steamer, flat-top, and a wok. He steamed the wraps, cooked the meat on the flat-top, and cooked vegetables and scrambled the eggs in the eight-inch wok. The biscuits were pre-baked, but warmed on the flat-top.
Abby decided on a mushroom-and-sausage burrito with cheese. Tim took two sausage-and-egg biscuits. Ducky frowned over the decision between an English muffin with egg and ham, or a wrap with egg, ham, sausage, and cheese. It didn’t take him long to decide on the muffin when he realized that the burritos were made with cheese sauce from a can, while the sandwiches had sliced cheese. Jimmy cheerfully took a bacon, ham, egg, and cheese burrito, declaring happily, “It doesn’t make much difference just once.”
They carried their food to one of the umbrella tables scattered around the area and settled down to eat.
Abby, ever curious, asked, “Did anyone know that there were two conventions going on at the same time?”
Tim shook his head. “No. It’s not usual to tell one convention about another. I mean, who would care?”
Abby shrugged. “I don’t know. Just curious. I always thought a diamond merchant convention would have lots of diamonds around.”
Ducky shook his head. “Oh, no, my dear. They don’t bring diamonds to a convention. Most trading is done on the low-down so thieves don’t find out about it. In my salad days, I was actually assigned to a couple of deals between England and other countries. Large payments weren’t made in cash in those days. And there was no such thing as an electronic transfer. Diamonds or gold. And gold is so very heavy.”
Jimmy nodded. “It is. I heard that they also used valuable things other than diamonds or gold.”
Tim interjected, “In one trade between Colombia and Russia? The Colombians used drugs. The Russians… well, no telling what they did with them.”
Ducky frowned. “I don’t want to know. So… which presentations are we going to attend?”
Abby smiled. “I brought the schedule so we could decide. And we’re really lucky. None of the presentations or workshops conflict with our presentation. I marked what I’m interested in. If you just ignore my marks and check off what you’re interested in… well, we could just pick between what we’re both interested in, or take off on our own.”
“I believe that we could compromise a bit. I know I’m interested in wound track examination, which you are not. But it’s opposite a workshop on new tissue dyes, which you are interested in. If we’re judicious, we can manage most of what we’re interested in. Also, if there’s something we’re both interested in but opposite something of critical interest to one of us, the other one could take notes and share.”
Abby let out a little crow of delight. “Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Ducky patted her arm. “Because you’re a very kind person who hates to think someone would be left out of something.”
Abby shrugged, ate the last of her food and said, “We could find a nice place to hole up for a bit and figure this all out.”
Jimmy agreed. “Tim and I will just hang. I do think we ought to keep together as much as possible.”
Abby blinked at that. “Um… you have… a gut feeling? I don’t like that. I mean, yeah, you can stick with us if you want. But you’re going to be awful bored. Still, there’s something I don’t like about this whole thing.”
Tim agreed. “We’ve all been getting bad vibes from the second we got here. I think this whole mission is a giant Charlie Foxtrot from the get-go. I get the feeling we’re gonna be UFO before this Sierra Sierra is over.”
Ducky found one of the hosts of the venue and just asked for a small room where they could settle in for about an hour. Just long enough to avoid the breakfast, get their schedule figured out, and still have a few minutes to get to sign-ups. In order to avoid a too-crowded room, they had to sign up for the various workshops and presentations.
The host found them a small room with comfortable seating and a medium-sized conference table to use. He explained that they tried to accommodate all sizes of meetings; this room was used by businessmen who needed a neutral place to meet.
As he explained, he bustled around making coffee, checking what he called add-ins, and generally trying to make them comfortable. He left after asking them to turn off the coffee pot before they left the room and hang a ‘Please Clean’ sign on the door knob.
Tim poured coffee and handed around the cups-real ceramic cups, he noted. Jimmy put sugar and creamer cups on the table, then sat down in a chair in the conversation area with his coffee.
Abby absently sipped her coffee, wished for a Caf-pow, then started making her list. Ducky did the same, wishing for a proper cuppa. Tim settled in the other chair and got his tablet out of his messenger bag and began to read. Jimmy, who had decided to bring his ruck with all his stuff, got out his own tablet and started on a game.
It wasn’t long before Abby and Ducky reached some sort of agreement on who was going to what. Ducky checked his notes one last time, then said, “Excellent. I’ll just nip down and sign us up, shall I?”
Abby already had her phone out, speaking to someone. “Yes. I’d like to check to see if I have to come down and sign up in person, or is there some way to do it online?” She listened for a moment, then said, “Very well. Too bad. We’ll both be down in a bit. Thank you.” She hung up then said, “Well, shoot. We have to do it in person and you can’t do it for me. We have to do it ourselves. So… and the lady said it might take as much as an hour. But signups don’t start until 10:30. That’s nearly an hour.”
Ducky folded his papers up and tucked them into a pocket. “I see. Well, why don’t we take a peek at the diamond display. I’m sure it will be interesting.”
Abby agreed. “Sounds like a plan. Jimmy? Tim?”
Jimmy thought for a moment. “Sounds good to me. I don’t know a lot about diamonds, maybe I can learn.”
Tim started to say no, then remembered that he’d promised Abby not to leave her alone anywhere she might run into someone ‘handsy’. “Okay. But I’m gonna be hungry by 1100 and I’m not eating what passes for lunch here. Why the hell is food at these things so bad?”
Ducky got up and headed for the door speaking over his shoulder. “Because it’s cheap, can be served by a badly trained monkey, and most people will be well on their way to being at least tipsy by the time they eat.”
Tim poked Jimmy. “We’ve been owned.”
Jimmy replied, “We most certainly have been.”
Abby agreed but added, “The servers here seem really nice. That one said she wasn’t going to let anything happen on her watch. She made sure all our mixers were in unopened containers.”
“She did.”
Ducky admonished, “I wasn’t speaking about the servers here in particular. I was speaking in general. Come on.”
Abby trotted after Ducky, with Tim and Jimmy right behind her. They managed to jam in the door; wide shoulders, narrow door, not a good mix. Tim turned his shoulders a bit, Jimmy did the same, and they managed to pass.
Tim shoulder-butted Jimmy. “Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
That sorted, they hurried after their friends.
The diamond display was in a room on the ground floor, behind the vestibule and across from the service area. It should have been a cramped afterthought; it wasn’t. Evidently it was also a ballroom, small but elegant. The chandlers were Waterford and very nice. The light they cast made everything sparkle.
A security guard stopped them at the door, saying, “Are you members of the association?”
Ducky replied, “No, but we were invited by… oh, dear, I don’t remember his name. Short fellow, stocky, blondish. Said he was a member of the Board of Merchants.”
“Oh, yes. Mallard and company. Some…” he looked at a clipboard. “Presenting at the forensics thing?”
“Yes.” Ducky glanced around, ready to be asked to leave.
“I’ve got four on my list. I’ll have to ask for some sort of ID, please.”
Ducky produced his passport and NCIS ID. Abby did the same. Not being agents, Abby and Ducky just had a laminated card with the NCIS shield in blue in the background. Tim and Jimmy were both agents, Jimmy having completed the abbreviated FLETC in his spare time. Gibbs had given him a marksmanship test and Vance had passed him. They produced nice leather folders with a badge and ID.
The guard examined all their ID’s carefully then said, “Great. In you go. Do enjoy the new cuts and remember that they’re not real. Oh. Avoid the pigs in a blanket, they’re just downright nasty.”
Abby eyed a nearby server’s tray. “They look… soggy. And… icky.”
“Yeah, they are. Well, I’m sorry, I need you to clear the door. Enjoy.”
They moved away without complaint. Abby pointed to a display column in the middle of the room. “There. Come on.” She grabbed Tim by one arm and dragged him toward the display.
Jimmy smiled at her enthusiasm. “Shall we?” He bowed slightly to Ducky and waved a hand in the general direction.
Ducky nodded once. “We shall.”
They separated, each person going to the area that held their interest. Abby headed to the display to see the new cuts. Ducky wandered over to a clump of older men to listen to stories of their younger days, and tell a couple of his own. Tim saw some sort of machine in a corner and ambled over to see what it was. It turned out to be a laser cutter that could be programmed to cut gems to exact specifications. Jimmy just eased into a small service area where he could people-watch without being in the way. He pulled the accordion door halfway shut.
A server eased up and asked, “Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m just not interested in any of this, but the other three people in my group are. So I’m just keeping out of the way and an eye on all of them.”
The server smiled at Jimmy. “I see. Would you like something to drink? We’re not serving any liquor at this time of day, but we’ve got coffee, nasty hot tea, sweet ice tea, juices, and soda. There’s also some snacks, which the organizer calls nibbles; pretentious is what I call it.”
Jimmy grinned at the server. “I’d really like a good cup of coffee and some of those finger sandwiches, if they’re fresh.”
“They are. I made them myself this morning. Avoid that thing on rye. It’s chopped corned beef mixed with sauerkraut and cream cheese. Nasty.”
Jimmy blinked at the man. “Seriously? What kind of fucked up, psycho culinary nutjob thought that up?”
“Some dumbass thought Reuben and fucked it up. I’ll be right back.”
He returned in a few minutes with a dinner plate of finger sandwiches and savory pastries. The coffee was in a mug; one sniff told Jimmy that it was strong.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Welcome. I’m gonna be here about another half hour; I got a class. If you need anything before I leave, give me a wave.”
The server moved off to carry another tray of snacks around. Jimmy grumbled, “Nibbles? What the actual fuck?” He returned to watching the twenty or so people mill around.
.
Abby took a finger sandwich off a tray, but one bite had her spitting it out into the napkin and looking for some place to dump it. She saw Jimmy’s hiding spot and headed for him. “Oh, my God! What is this supposed to be?”
Jimmy eyed the half masticated mess. “That’s a pseudo-wannabe Reuben. Here.” He took the napkin and dropped it into the trash. “Hide with me for a bit.”
“Okay. The display is nice, but the new cut is a pretentious mess. The display is nice. They’ve got all the cuts ever. Some bright soul has them arranged by the decades they were most popular. It’s really interesting. I do like the old Rose cut. But that new cut is just… busy. I don’t think it’ll take.”
Jimmy shrugged, diamonds were not that interesting to him. They were pretty, expensive, and not for him. “Too bad. But… here. Have some of this. It’s egg salad and avocado, really good. And there’s… um… some sort of pot meat with fancy mayo.”
Abby snickered. “That’s aioli.” She nibbled carefully. “Mmmm, it is good. But I think that pot meat is pâté.”
Jimmy frowned at her for a second. “Okay. But isn’t that expensive?”
“Yes and no. Goose liver is really expensive, but you can make a very acceptable, cheap substitute with chicken or duck. I think this is chicken, with some bacon for the fat.” She took another bite. “And shallots… maybe some rosemary.”
Abby nodded her head. “Oh, look. Aren’t they cute?”
Jimmy looked then snickered. “I don’t think either Ducky nor Tim would appreciate being called cute.”
“But look at them. Tim’s all tec geeking, and Ducky has someone who really wants to hear his stories.”
Jimmy frowned for a moment. “And I don’t understand why Jet is always interrupting him. I like his stories. Tim, AJ, and I sit with him and listen for hours.”
Abby frowned right back. “One, he gets off on a tangent which delays vital intel. Two, some of his stories are still classified. And three, some are about Gibbs being young and stupid. He gets embarrassed.”
Jimmy snickered. “I never thought about it that way.”
Abby opened her mouth to say something else, but shouting and gunfire made her squeak instead.
Jimmy pushed her into a corner and ordered, “Stay right there.”
She just nodded and shrank into her spot.
Jimmy pulled the accordion door nearly closed, hoping no one noticed, then peeked through the crack.
Tim was covering Ducky; neither one of them looked hurt. Jimmy crouched down and tried to signal Tim. Ducky noticed and patted Tim on the arm. A bit of ASL, and a plan was formed. Ducky eased out from under Tim and wriggled toward the door, with Tim right behind him.
No one noticed any of this, as all the other people were either screaming, crying, or yelling for everyone to shut up. The chaos was complete. It didn’t help that each person in the invading team of thieves was yelling different directions from every other.
Tim and Ducky took advantage of the scrambling bodies to make it into the service station.
Tim closed the door behind him. “If we’re lucky they won’t notice this nook until too late. So… plan?”
Ducky offered, “Lay low until they get whatever they want and go.”
Jimmy frowned. “Not really a good plan, frankly. They’ll be looking for stragglers.”
Abby showed her phone. “I called 911. The dispatcher said to stay hidden. Did I do okay?”
“Yes. I was going to call as soon as we got settled.” Tim eyed his phone then turned it to silent. “I don’t want it ringing and giving our position away.”
Everyone else hurried to reset their own phones.
While they were doing that, the invaders had gotten everyone lined up against the back wall and were shouting demands at them. The only problem was, everyone was yelling something different, just as before, so the confused and panicked people had no idea what was wanted, only that their captors were threatening them with guns and screaming at them.
Tim and Ducky used the confusion to good advantage.
Tim whispered, “Okay. What can we do? And what should we do?”
Ducky replied, “I’m not sure. What do we actually have?”
Abby hissed, “Cleaning supplies. Ammonia… bleach… Turpentine. And some bottles. I can make gas bombs and Molotov cocktails. But we’ll have to be really, really careful or we’ll hurt the hostages.”
Jimmy drew his sidearm and checked it. “I’ve got an E26R-9-LEGION. Comes with a 15 shot mag standard and three extra mags. One is extended 20 rounds.”
Tim blinked. “Juliette Foxtrot Charlie. Talk about firepower.” He grinned. “I’ve got my NCIS issue P-226 MX26 and four extra mags. Ducky?”
Ducky shrugged. “I’ve only got a Colt Bulldog revolver. Six shots and I’m out. I’ve got some extra ammo in my pocket, but no reloader, so I’m down for about a minute while I reload.” He grimaced in dismay.
“Don’t worry about it. Some dumbass will lose his weapon, sooner or later. Just pick it up.”
Meanwhile, the invaders had managed to figure out what was wrong. One man, the obvious leader, started issuing orders.
“Okay. Everyone line up along that wall. No screaming, crying, or arguing. I’ll shoot anyone who steps out of line. Move it!”
Everyone scurried to obey.
.
All that noise attracted all kinds of attention from outside the room. Some of the servers had managed to escape and tell their stories. Someone called 911 and internal security worked quickly to get everyone out of the building. Since the thieves were concentrating on the one room, it wasn’t that hard.
This left the police with one large room with narrow windows occupied by six masked men and some twelve hostages. Some of the people in the room had been close enough to various doors to get out before the invaders managed to block them. Cops gathered them in a coffee shop nearby and started interviewing.
SWAT rolled up in their truck and deployed; orders were not to shoot until they could take out all the group at one time. They tried to call the land line in the room but, since there was no operator, they couldn’t get a connection. The Venue Manager had a list of all the people attending the meeting and he was glad to turn it over. The SWAT Leader got someone started on calling all the numbers to try to get contact.
Phones rang and were answered. Other phones rang only to be ignored or declined. A few rang in the ballroom, only to infuriate the invaders; those phones were confiscated and broken.
Tim and Jimmy crowded Abby and Ducky as far back in the nook as they could get. Ducky complained softly, “I’m RED, as you know.”
Tim nodded. “We know but you’re the smartest of us so… protect the brain.”
Abby grumbled, “I’m smart too.”
Jimmy muttered, “Yeah, but you can’t shoot.”
“Jerk.”
“I’d say ‘bitch’ back but it’s not PC, now hush.”
Abby hushed and went back to making something with dressing cups and carryout containers.
Tim peeked out again, then sighed. “Well, one thing good: all the hostages are against the back wall. Bad thing is… the hostiles are behind them.”
Jimmy groaned then snarled, “Damn it. And what the hell do they actually want?”
They found out.
“Where the hell are the rest of the diamonds?”
One brave man hesitantly stepped forward. “There aren’t any. We don’t bring diamonds to this sort of conference.”
“Damn it! There’s diamonds. We saw them. There… in that case. There’s more here somewhere. Give ‘em up.”
While the leader, who Jimmy had dubbed Schmo One, was arguing with the merchant, Minion Two was knocking the small lock off the display and stuffing the trays of zirconiums into a bag.
Tim grimaced. It wasn’t a good idea to argue with a bunch of thugs like these, but the man was trying to explain something. Something that the thieves didn’t want to hear. This was not going to turn out well.
It didn’t. Schmo One shot the man, in the leg, but still. All that did was make everyone scream, throw up, or faint. Chaos wasn’t helpful.
It also made SWAT change tactics. Now they were determined to bring the group down hard. The commander had asked for a list of all the people assumed to be in the room. It was still a work in progress but he took what he could get. A quick read-through gave him an idea. “Look. Here’s some people from NCIS. An ME, his assistant, a squint, and an agent. If we can get in touch with them somehow, maybe we can at least get eyes.”
His 2IC made it happen. The IT tech on the team was careful; he activated Tim’s phone, but sent a silent text. This got the answer that Tim was not happy that they’d taken that chance. His text setting was soft beep and vibrate, but if his phone had been on a hard surface, the noise would have been enough to give away their location. The officer apologized, then asked if they had eyes or were they hunkered down in place.
Tim’s text was simple, “Both.”
The next request was for pictures of the scene which Tim took with his camera and sent with the note that the group were demanding diamonds that didn’t exist and were getting more and more insistent by the second.
CO Lt. McPherson grumbled, “Well, shit. We’re on a short fuse. Those guys are gonna get impatient soon and start killing people. They shot one guy already. I just hope that poor sucker doesn’t bleed out before we can get in there.”
2IC Sgt. Caplan offered, “Well, those narrow windows don’t give a good line of sight, but maybe we could get them all at one time?”
“Good luck with that one. Get with the snipers and ask.”
McPherson had Officer/Tech Donaldson ask about arms next. When he saw the inventory he swore, then said, “What the actual fuck? Are they nuts?”
“Don’t know.” Officer Donaldson shrugged. “Who knows what the feebs are thinking?”
“Yeah. But… um… gas bombs?”
“No idea whatsoever.” He thought for a moment then, added, “And I don’t want one, either.”
Sgt. Caplan came back with the bad news: there was no way for the snipers to get a bead on anyone through those narrow windows. They were special glass and actually distorted the line of sight.
“Well, shit.” Lt. McPherson ran a hand over his buzzcut. “Now what?”
“We’ve got assets… if we can figure out how to use them.”
Several text messages left everyone frustrated. There was no way for SWAT to get into the room quietly; all the doors were chained shut from the inside. The only door that wasn’t was the glass door that led to the lobby; one of the thieves was stationed there.
Tim sighed, “If I had a silencer I could pick that guy on the lobby door off without too much notice. They’re all still busy either demanding diamonds that don’t exist or trying to explain that. I’m surprised that they haven’t shot someone else yet.”
Abby nodded. “I could make a silencer; I’ve got the license, but I need a lathe and a bunch of other stuff. All that shit about homemade silencers is exactly that… shit.”
“I know. And you know what AJ says… wish in one hand, shit in the other; see which one fills up first.”
More texting between SWAT and Tim produced the best plan they could manage. There were six men, one on the glass door, two harassing the hostages, one on each of the chained doors and one just standing by with the bag of zirconias. SWAT wished they could get Tim and Jimmy a couple of flash-bangs but that was a definite no-go. Abby had managed a few gas grenades with ammonia and bleach, this was what she was making with the dressing cups and carry-out containers. She had made them fairly weak, on a level with strong mace, and had told SWAT to be prepared to water the floor down as soon as possible.
So they waited until everyone was in position, then Lt. McPherson shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” and a simultaneous attack began. One team for each door, and Tim, Jimmy, and Ducky. Abby stayed back.
Two teams started breaking down the chained doors with cement-filled pipes with handles, called Door Knockers. Another just shot the guard on the glass doors through the glass, then rushed the room. They all were wearing gas masks, as Abby had told them there would be gas.
While all this was going on, Tim and Jimmy were holding their weapons on the room. If any of the thieves tried to shoot any of the hostages, they were dead. Abby threw her gas bombs into the room and clouds of toxic gas billowed around the areas. She had good aim and two bombs fell at the feet of Schmo One, and another actually hit the roaming man in the chest.
The chained doors burst open and SWAT rushed in. They started grabbing people and pushing them toward the door. Most of the men were coughing and tearing, but they ran for the doors obediently.
The men who had been guarding the doors had run into the room the second they were breached.
Abby pointed. “Ducky! That one’s gonna shoot that SWAT guy.”
Ducky drew his pistol and took aim. The snub nose of the Bulldog made it a short range weapon, but Ducky was accurate up to the longest shot possible. He shot the thief center mass, knocking him down. His head hit the floor, which knocked him out.
Tim and Jimmy were standing right in front of the nook. This kept them out of the line of fire, but allowed them to aid as needed. As the SWAT team was good, it wasn’t much. Tim knocked the roaming guard out; he was gagging on the gas, so it was more a mercy than anything else. Jimmy dodged gunfire and gas to make it to the man who’d been shot in the leg. He was in bad shape, unconscious from blood loss, so Jimmy picked him up in a fireman’s carry, still holding his sidearm, and carried him out of the gas.
He put the man on a table, which he cleared with a sweep of his hand. “Ducky! Bring my ruck.”
But Ducky was already right there, ruck in hand. “Right here.”
Ducky took over treatment. “Very well, let’s see what we have here.” Ducky began his examination by using medical scissors to cut the pants leg out of the way. “Jimmy, we have a through-and-through. Happily, it missed anything vital. Get me two pressure packs and an Ace. We’ll just wrap him up for transport.”
Jimmy passed Ducky the required supplies, saying, “Here you go. I wish we had an IV set up. I carry a couple in my full ruck, but I only brought about half. I didn’t think we’d be in the middle of a damn shootout.”
An EMT approached with his gear. “Okay. I’m here. Triage?”
Ducky gave him a quick rundown and finished, “I’d advise putting him in a truck and heading for the hospital. He’s stable for now.”
The EMT and his partner ran the usual before-transport checks. “Great. Either one of you a physician?”
Ducky smiled. “We both are. Now take our friend and go. Safe travel.”
“Thanks. We’ll take good care of him.”
While they were talking, the EMT’s got an IV in one arm and wrapped another bandage around the man’s leg.
“Okay. IV… in. Let’s go.”
They moved their patient to the gurney, took him to the ambulance, and were gone.
A uniform stopped by to say, “I know you know the drill, bein’ NCIS an’ all. But, don’t leave the building until someone’s had a word with you.” He smiled. “And thanks for the medic, I don’t think that man had much longer.”
Ducky shook his head. “No thanks needed. I agree with you, I don’t believe he had more than five more minutes. I’m sure he’ll make it now.” He eyed his bloody hands with a grimace. “I need to wash up. Gent’s room?”
“Go ahead.” The uniform ambled off making notes in his book as he went.
Ducky took a moment to look around. Tim was in the middle of a group of officers who were pelting him with questions. Jimmy had disappeared, he assumed to the restroom to wash up. Abby was sprinkling something on the small spots of fluid left from her bombs and telling a man with a mop and bucket how to clean the mess up safely.
Ducky quickly washed his hands and arms, then dried them. He took a moment just to relax and get himself together. He hated it when civilians got involved in a shitstorm like this. They shouldn’t have to deal with it.
Jimmy had already washed his hands and was sitting on the floor. “Ducky, pull up a piece of floor. Sit down for a bit.”
“I believe I will.” Ducky settled beside Jimmy and leaned his head against the wall. “Goodness me.”
“Tired?”
Ducky shrugged.
“Me too. We can just sit here until someone comes looking.”
“Someone’ll hunt us down in about ten. Bet.”
“I’m much too old and wise to take a sucker bet like that one. Pull the other one; it’s got bells on.”
Jimmy didn’t get to reply, as someone knocked on the door then opened it. A man they didn’t know stuck his head in and asked, “You Mallard and Palmer?”
Ducky nodded, then got up with a bit of help from Jimmy. “We are. And you are?”
“Detective Nigel Wayne. I just need a few questions answered. And I’ll have to relieve you of your sidearms. Sorry.”
Ducky handed over his Bulldog without complaint, but Jimmy announced that he wasn’t turning over a twelve hundred dollar Glock and over three hundred dollars of mags and ammo without a court order and a receipt.
Detective Wayne just nodded. “Okay. I’ll get your papers for you. I do realize that handing over your personal arm is a big imposition. I’ll personally guarantee that you’ll get it back in perfect shape.”
Jimmy just nodded.
Detective Wayne refrained from further comment and led the way to a small room that was obviously an employees’ break room. They settled at one of the tables, while both Jimmy and Ducky noticed that Tim was at another table farther down the room. Abby was conspicuously absent.
“Where’s Abby?”
“Who?”
“Dr. Abigail Sciuto.”
“Oh, her. Smart lady. She’s supervising the cleanup of her… whatever the hell you call ‘em. Involves vinegar and… something.”
Jimmy relaxed. “Okay. She been interviewed yet?”
“Don’t think so. We’ll get you set up somewhere after you give a statement and surrender your arms. You can wait there until you’re all interviewed.” Another detective came and took Ducky to another table. “Okay. So… What the actual fuck?”
It took nearly an hour for all four friends to make their statements, most of the hold-up was waiting for the court order and invoice for all their arms. Jimmy wound up handing over his Glock, but not his mags; Tim the same. Ducky had just handed his Bulldog over, but got an invoice just the same. Abby had to write out what she’d used to make her bombs.
After all the t’s were crossed and i’s dotted, the four headed back to their hotel. On the way they got a text that informed them that the Forensics Conference had been cancelled, as most of the participants had headed for home already.
Abby announced, “I’m taking a shower, then changing my clothes… you guys?”
Ducky nodded. “Shower, clean things, then… food. I’m hungry.”
Tim and Jimmy agreed with Abby and Ducky, so they split up for their rooms to shower and change, then meet back up in the bar.
It didn’t take long for everyone to clean up, dress, and get to the bar. Tim and Jimmy had dressed in coyote BDU’s and desert boots. Tim wore a dark green t-shirt, while Jimmy wore brown. Abby had dressed in Docker cargo pants, with a green tank-top printed with pickles. Ducky was his usual casual, tweedy self.
They met in the entryway to the bar/restaurant and waited for the hostess to seat them, which didn’t take long. She smiled and led them to a table for six. “Is this okay? We don’t have any tables for four empty, and I didn’t want you to wait.”
Ducky nodded. “It’s fine.” A bus boy came to remove the unneeded chairs.
They settled at their table with sighs of relief. They were all winding down from the adrenaline rush of the day and were definitely hungry. They all agreed that they’d stick to beer and have no more than one before the food came.
When the waitress came over, Abby ordered a Negra-Modello, a dark Mexican beer. Ducky, Tim, and Jimmy ordered Guinness. Sylvia handed menus around and announced, “Okay. Drinks right up.”
The menu was typical bar food, but the place had four and a half stars on GoodEats. Abby eyed the menu for a moment then said, “I hate this. I want some of everything and… well, I’ll be sick if I order what I want.”
Tim shrugged. “Okay. I want sliders, wings, and potato skins.”
Jimmy put his menu down, saying, “Yeah, but crab sliders, fried pickles, and onion rings for me.”
Ducky added, “I would love chicken yakitori, artichoke dip, and mini-meatballs with ranch sauce.”
Abby scribbled on a napkin, eyed it for a moment then said, “Great. We’ll just order the slider plate, it has burgers, crab salad and b-b-q chicken, fried pickles, potato skins, wings, yakitori, dip, meatballs and… they don’t have onion rings?” Abby eyed Jimmy.
“I didn’t say they were on the menu, just that I want some. I’ll take…” He thought for a moment then shrugged. “I’ll just eat what’s on your list. We’ve ordered plenty. If not, we can always order more.”
So, when the server returned Ducky ordered. She eyed him for a moment then said, “I know I shouldn’t ask… but, are you sure?”
Jimmy smirked at her. “Tim and I run at least four miles a day. Besides, getting shot at makes me hungry.”
The server started to say something, shut her mouth, opened it again, then managed, “Holy shit!” She flushed then scurried away to drop their order.
She came back in about fifteen minutes with the food and the information that the hotel had comped everything from now until the time they left.
Jimmy blinked, started to say something, then just thanked her; Tim, Ducky, and Abby followed suit.
Abby nibbled at a potato skin. “Amazing what you can do with a potato skin. I wonder what they do with the inside. Seems a shame to waste it.”
The bartender, who’d brought out a tray of drinks to help out, overheard and answered. “We’re very responsible about foods. The insides go into the mashed potatoes.”
Tim grinned. “Sounds good. I wish you had fried potato cakes. AJ makes the best.”
“What’s that?” Mac took his ticket pad out of his pocket. “Recipe? Please?”
“Sure. Mashed potatoes, hashbrowns, eggs, bit of flour, salt, and pepper. Tony says that giving regular proportions isn’t a good idea as it depends on the water content. But for one cup of mash, half a cup of hashbrowns, an egg, half teaspoon of salt, pepper to taste, then add flour until it makes a soft dough. I add a bit of Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco sauce, and finely chopped chives. Fry in butter until brown, and serve with sour cream and more chives. If you make them about the size of a silver dollar they’re finger food.”
“Wow! Sounds good. Thanks.”
“Welcome. Beer around.”
“Right on it.”
They continued to snack and drink.
They discussed the day, the way SWAT had behaved, the easy way the detectives had debriefed them.
Tim nodded to Jimmy. “Some of our people could learn a thing or two. I swear, Franklin is so ham-handed that he pisses witnesses off so bad they quit cooperating.”
Jimmy agreed. “Yeah, I had one guy actually tell me that, if he wasn’t gone in five minutes, I’d need another body bag. Jet was livid.”
Ducky shook his head. “Jet may irritate everyone in the agency at one time or another, but he’s never lost a witness through stupidity.”
They agreed that the agent in question should never be allowed anywhere near a debrief or deposition, ever.
They were discussing the wisdom of more beers when the bartender came over with a plate. “Hey. The chef tried that recipe. Taste those and see what you think.”
Everyone took a pancake. Abby hummed her appreciation. “Oh, very good.”
Jimmy and Tim agreed with their mouths full. Ducky took exception to this and scolded, “Mouths shut. The Barman will think you’re savages. However, they are particularly good… or I’m pished.”
The bartender looked puzzled. “Excuse me?”
Abby giggled. “Ducky is Scottish. Pished is Scottish for drunk. And I am.”
Tim and Jimmy agreed that they were cut off for the evening. Tim announced, “We’ll sit here for a bit then head up to bed. We’ll have to make connections back to DC. Um… later.”
They visited for about a half hour then got up to head up to bed.
Tim yawned then said, “I wonder how AJ and the guys are?”
Jimmy snorted rudely. “Probably sitting around on their asses, waiting for something to break. Bed.”
They poured themselves into the elevator and headed up to bed.
<><><>
WOMBAT: Waste Of Money, Brains And Time
.
Please do not ask me for the SEAL mission story. I haven’t written it yet, it’s the next story. Constant requests for stories really put me off stride.
I made up the convention center so that I could arrange it to suit the story.
The carver is just like many men I’ve dealt with over the years. I like my steak, prime rib, and roast mooing; have since I was about 8. I can’t count the number of servers who’ve actually told me I wouldn’t like it. I’ve actually had to send steaks back.
The President of a bridge club is often referred to as The Elder Statesman. Or was in my bridge days.
A sugar shell is the spoon that is used to spoon sugar into your cup; it is not used to stir the cup.
Eton Mess - crumbled meringues, sugared strawberries, and whipped cream
Berry Trifle - layered Strawberries, liquor soaked pound cake, blue berries, liquor soaked pound cake, raspberries, whipped cream
Individual Steamed Lemon Pudding with treacle sauce - self explanatory
Sticky Toffee pudding with caramel sauce - self explanatory
Spotted Dick - a pudding made of suet, dried fruit, sugar, and flour
Delta Mike Foxtrot - Dumb Mother Fucker. (dumbfuckitis)
UFO - Utterly Fucked Over (I rather like “unidentifiable fucked-up object” myself. ;D - Jake)
Sierra Sierra - shitstorm
Here's the last chapter of this story.
Ch 3
Morning came and with it came the text that they should be at the formal breakfast by 0900.
Abby announced to her room. “And why didn’t they send us all a schedule? This is ridiculous.”
Ducky wasn’t real happy about it either. He was of the opinion that the organizers needed an organizer.
Tim and Jimmy agreed that they just hoped that the food was good. Tim had grumbled, “Fat chance. It’s sure to be the breakfast equivalent of Chicken a la King.”
Jimmy sighed, “Probably right, but hope springs eternal. Let’s go.”
The breakfast turned out to be the first event in the whole program. And just as bad as Tim had predicted.
First, the seating was those uncomfortable orange plastic nightmares that were most venues’ idea of proper chairs. Second, the coffee was weak as dishwater, and there was no tea. Third, every person who had anything to do with organizing the convention made a speech.
Abby moaned softly, then grumbled, “I hate this. I’m hungry, and there’s two more people who are making speeches. Drivel mostly. I wish they’d hurry up.”
Tim, seated near a door, eyed it. “I think we can sneak out that door. Wanna try?”
Ducky frowned, then announced, “I’m not sneaking out. I’m just getting up and leaving. Weak bladder, don’t you know?” And with that, he got up and ambled toward the restrooms, smiling in that genial way of his.
Jimmy just followed him, ruck in hand. Jimmy had declared that he wasn’t going anywhere without his ruck and he meant it.
Abby and Tim used their distraction to slip out the nearby door. They found that it let into a utility corridor, so called because it kept the necessary housekeeping functions out of eyesight.
“Oh, goody. We can sneak into the kitchens and see if breakfast is worth the trouble.” Abby trotted in the direction of the smells.
Tim followed, saying, “Let me call Jimmy and see where he and Ducky are. I’ll arrange a meet.”
“Okay.” Abby stuck her head around the door to the kitchens and sighed. “Oh. My. God. They… look.” She pulled back to allow Tim to see into the kitchen.
Whoever had planned this mess obviously didn’t understand the theory of aging food. In other words, you can only hold food so long before it starts to taste off, turn runny, or curdle; it ages out.
So, the food for breakfast had been cooked in advance. It would have been fine, if they hadn’t allowed everyone and his dog to give a speech. Now, food that would have been fine with an opening speech and a few words from an organizer was inedible, having been held for over an hour.
Tim eyed the pans and said, “No way am I subjecting myself to… that.” He slipped in, poked a few things then returned to Abby’s side. “The cheese sauce is curdled and the gravy separated. No. Just… no. I’ll call Jimmy.”
He called and put his phone on speaker. “Ducky? Jimmy?”
“We’re here, dear boy. What is it?”
“You won’t believe it. Or maybe you will. They’ve held the food so long I wouldn’t feed it to Butch. Let’s meet somewhere and go out.”
“Very well. We’re in the lobby, by the front doors.”
Abby nodded. “Okay. We’ll be there in ten minutes or less.” Abby looked around. “If we can figure out how to get to the front.”
Tim solved that by stopping a kitchen helper. “Excuse me. We sneaked out of the breakfast. Boring doesn’t begin to tell it. So… how do we get to the lobby?”
The helper snickered. “I hear ya, man. Longwinded doesn’t cover it. And none of those jerks are the smart ones either.”
Tim nodded. “If you can’t blind them with your brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. Front?”
“That way. Just go right, then straight. Can’t miss it. An’ I’m not kidding, there’s not another door between here and there.”
Abby slipped the guy a ten, winked and followed Tim through the door.
They were faced with a right turn, no other way to go, and a long hall that dead-ended at double doors. These doors opened behind a desk at the back of the lobby. Tim lifted the bar flap and held it while Abby walked through. He followed, shutting the flap behind him.
“Okay.” Abby looked around. “Oh! There they are.” She pointed to a small group near the front doors.
Tim followed her over to the group.
They were just in time to hear Ducky say, “Diamond merchants? How interesting.”
A short, stocky man with grizzled blond hair replied, “Yes. We have several conventions every year. We establish how many karats are to be released, who is blackballed for selling blood diamonds, and have a show of new cuts. And before you ask, the displays are all CZ’s.”
Abby shrugged. “I’m a bit of a reverse snob. If it’s pretty and sparkly, who cares? I mean, real diamonds are a great investment, holding value or even increasing. But for pretty? Doesn’t really matter.”
The man smiled. “A very smart lady. Real diamonds will get you killed. My wife doesn’t even wear a wedding ring.” Someone called out, he looked in that direction then said, “I need to go. We’re all going to breakfast together. Your group got the banquet hall before we did. Not that it makes that much difference. Your group is about four hundred to our two plus. See you.” He hurried off to join his companions.
Tim looked out a side window. “Hey! The trucks are here… some of them. Let’s go see what they’ve got.”
Abby, Jimmy and Ducky just followed him to the side door and out into the area where trucks were allowed to park. There were also, just like the night before, several carts scattered across the pavement. There weren’t as many as there would be at lunch, but the six trucks offered a wide variety of good things. Adding in the carts, there was plenty to choose from.
One truck had breakfast burritos and sausage-egg biscuits. They all headed there to see if there was a good selection, Tim also wanted fresh-made, not preassembled.
It turned out that they were fresh-made, right down to scrambling the egg in a wok. The owner cheerfully informed them that making everything at once required a steamer, flat-top, and a wok. He steamed the wraps, cooked the meat on the flat-top, and cooked vegetables and scrambled the eggs in the eight-inch wok. The biscuits were pre-baked, but warmed on the flat-top.
Abby decided on a mushroom-and-sausage burrito with cheese. Tim took two sausage-and-egg biscuits. Ducky frowned over the decision between an English muffin with egg and ham, or a wrap with egg, ham, sausage, and cheese. It didn’t take him long to decide on the muffin when he realized that the burritos were made with cheese sauce from a can, while the sandwiches had sliced cheese. Jimmy cheerfully took a bacon, ham, egg, and cheese burrito, declaring happily, “It doesn’t make much difference just once.”
They carried their food to one of the umbrella tables scattered around the area and settled down to eat.
Abby, ever curious, asked, “Did anyone know that there were two conventions going on at the same time?”
Tim shook his head. “No. It’s not usual to tell one convention about another. I mean, who would care?”
Abby shrugged. “I don’t know. Just curious. I always thought a diamond merchant convention would have lots of diamonds around.”
Ducky shook his head. “Oh, no, my dear. They don’t bring diamonds to a convention. Most trading is done on the low-down so thieves don’t find out about it. In my salad days, I was actually assigned to a couple of deals between England and other countries. Large payments weren’t made in cash in those days. And there was no such thing as an electronic transfer. Diamonds or gold. And gold is so very heavy.”
Jimmy nodded. “It is. I heard that they also used valuable things other than diamonds or gold.”
Tim interjected, “In one trade between Colombia and Russia? The Colombians used drugs. The Russians… well, no telling what they did with them.”
Ducky frowned. “I don’t want to know. So… which presentations are we going to attend?”
Abby smiled. “I brought the schedule so we could decide. And we’re really lucky. None of the presentations or workshops conflict with our presentation. I marked what I’m interested in. If you just ignore my marks and check off what you’re interested in… well, we could just pick between what we’re both interested in, or take off on our own.”
“I believe that we could compromise a bit. I know I’m interested in wound track examination, which you are not. But it’s opposite a workshop on new tissue dyes, which you are interested in. If we’re judicious, we can manage most of what we’re interested in. Also, if there’s something we’re both interested in but opposite something of critical interest to one of us, the other one could take notes and share.”
Abby let out a little crow of delight. “Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Ducky patted her arm. “Because you’re a very kind person who hates to think someone would be left out of something.”
Abby shrugged, ate the last of her food and said, “We could find a nice place to hole up for a bit and figure this all out.”
Jimmy agreed. “Tim and I will just hang. I do think we ought to keep together as much as possible.”
Abby blinked at that. “Um… you have… a gut feeling? I don’t like that. I mean, yeah, you can stick with us if you want. But you’re going to be awful bored. Still, there’s something I don’t like about this whole thing.”
Tim agreed. “We’ve all been getting bad vibes from the second we got here. I think this whole mission is a giant Charlie Foxtrot from the get-go. I get the feeling we’re gonna be UFO before this Sierra Sierra is over.”
Ducky found one of the hosts of the venue and just asked for a small room where they could settle in for about an hour. Just long enough to avoid the breakfast, get their schedule figured out, and still have a few minutes to get to sign-ups. In order to avoid a too-crowded room, they had to sign up for the various workshops and presentations.
The host found them a small room with comfortable seating and a medium-sized conference table to use. He explained that they tried to accommodate all sizes of meetings; this room was used by businessmen who needed a neutral place to meet.
As he explained, he bustled around making coffee, checking what he called add-ins, and generally trying to make them comfortable. He left after asking them to turn off the coffee pot before they left the room and hang a ‘Please Clean’ sign on the door knob.
Tim poured coffee and handed around the cups-real ceramic cups, he noted. Jimmy put sugar and creamer cups on the table, then sat down in a chair in the conversation area with his coffee.
Abby absently sipped her coffee, wished for a Caf-pow, then started making her list. Ducky did the same, wishing for a proper cuppa. Tim settled in the other chair and got his tablet out of his messenger bag and began to read. Jimmy, who had decided to bring his ruck with all his stuff, got out his own tablet and started on a game.
It wasn’t long before Abby and Ducky reached some sort of agreement on who was going to what. Ducky checked his notes one last time, then said, “Excellent. I’ll just nip down and sign us up, shall I?”
Abby already had her phone out, speaking to someone. “Yes. I’d like to check to see if I have to come down and sign up in person, or is there some way to do it online?” She listened for a moment, then said, “Very well. Too bad. We’ll both be down in a bit. Thank you.” She hung up then said, “Well, shoot. We have to do it in person and you can’t do it for me. We have to do it ourselves. So… and the lady said it might take as much as an hour. But signups don’t start until 10:30. That’s nearly an hour.”
Ducky folded his papers up and tucked them into a pocket. “I see. Well, why don’t we take a peek at the diamond display. I’m sure it will be interesting.”
Abby agreed. “Sounds like a plan. Jimmy? Tim?”
Jimmy thought for a moment. “Sounds good to me. I don’t know a lot about diamonds, maybe I can learn.”
Tim started to say no, then remembered that he’d promised Abby not to leave her alone anywhere she might run into someone ‘handsy’. “Okay. But I’m gonna be hungry by 1100 and I’m not eating what passes for lunch here. Why the hell is food at these things so bad?”
Ducky got up and headed for the door speaking over his shoulder. “Because it’s cheap, can be served by a badly trained monkey, and most people will be well on their way to being at least tipsy by the time they eat.”
Tim poked Jimmy. “We’ve been owned.”
Jimmy replied, “We most certainly have been.”
Abby agreed but added, “The servers here seem really nice. That one said she wasn’t going to let anything happen on her watch. She made sure all our mixers were in unopened containers.”
“She did.”
Ducky admonished, “I wasn’t speaking about the servers here in particular. I was speaking in general. Come on.”
Abby trotted after Ducky, with Tim and Jimmy right behind her. They managed to jam in the door; wide shoulders, narrow door, not a good mix. Tim turned his shoulders a bit, Jimmy did the same, and they managed to pass.
Tim shoulder-butted Jimmy. “Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
That sorted, they hurried after their friends.
The diamond display was in a room on the ground floor, behind the vestibule and across from the service area. It should have been a cramped afterthought; it wasn’t. Evidently it was also a ballroom, small but elegant. The chandlers were Waterford and very nice. The light they cast made everything sparkle.
A security guard stopped them at the door, saying, “Are you members of the association?”
Ducky replied, “No, but we were invited by… oh, dear, I don’t remember his name. Short fellow, stocky, blondish. Said he was a member of the Board of Merchants.”
“Oh, yes. Mallard and company. Some…” he looked at a clipboard. “Presenting at the forensics thing?”
“Yes.” Ducky glanced around, ready to be asked to leave.
“I’ve got four on my list. I’ll have to ask for some sort of ID, please.”
Ducky produced his passport and NCIS ID. Abby did the same. Not being agents, Abby and Ducky just had a laminated card with the NCIS shield in blue in the background. Tim and Jimmy were both agents, Jimmy having completed the abbreviated FLETC in his spare time. Gibbs had given him a marksmanship test and Vance had passed him. They produced nice leather folders with a badge and ID.
The guard examined all their ID’s carefully then said, “Great. In you go. Do enjoy the new cuts and remember that they’re not real. Oh. Avoid the pigs in a blanket, they’re just downright nasty.”
Abby eyed a nearby server’s tray. “They look… soggy. And… icky.”
“Yeah, they are. Well, I’m sorry, I need you to clear the door. Enjoy.”
They moved away without complaint. Abby pointed to a display column in the middle of the room. “There. Come on.” She grabbed Tim by one arm and dragged him toward the display.
Jimmy smiled at her enthusiasm. “Shall we?” He bowed slightly to Ducky and waved a hand in the general direction.
Ducky nodded once. “We shall.”
They separated, each person going to the area that held their interest. Abby headed to the display to see the new cuts. Ducky wandered over to a clump of older men to listen to stories of their younger days, and tell a couple of his own. Tim saw some sort of machine in a corner and ambled over to see what it was. It turned out to be a laser cutter that could be programmed to cut gems to exact specifications. Jimmy just eased into a small service area where he could people-watch without being in the way. He pulled the accordion door halfway shut.
A server eased up and asked, “Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m just not interested in any of this, but the other three people in my group are. So I’m just keeping out of the way and an eye on all of them.”
The server smiled at Jimmy. “I see. Would you like something to drink? We’re not serving any liquor at this time of day, but we’ve got coffee, nasty hot tea, sweet ice tea, juices, and soda. There’s also some snacks, which the organizer calls nibbles; pretentious is what I call it.”
Jimmy grinned at the server. “I’d really like a good cup of coffee and some of those finger sandwiches, if they’re fresh.”
“They are. I made them myself this morning. Avoid that thing on rye. It’s chopped corned beef mixed with sauerkraut and cream cheese. Nasty.”
Jimmy blinked at the man. “Seriously? What kind of fucked up, psycho culinary nutjob thought that up?”
“Some dumbass thought Reuben and fucked it up. I’ll be right back.”
He returned in a few minutes with a dinner plate of finger sandwiches and savory pastries. The coffee was in a mug; one sniff told Jimmy that it was strong.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Welcome. I’m gonna be here about another half hour; I got a class. If you need anything before I leave, give me a wave.”
The server moved off to carry another tray of snacks around. Jimmy grumbled, “Nibbles? What the actual fuck?” He returned to watching the twenty or so people mill around.
.
Abby took a finger sandwich off a tray, but one bite had her spitting it out into the napkin and looking for some place to dump it. She saw Jimmy’s hiding spot and headed for him. “Oh, my God! What is this supposed to be?”
Jimmy eyed the half masticated mess. “That’s a pseudo-wannabe Reuben. Here.” He took the napkin and dropped it into the trash. “Hide with me for a bit.”
“Okay. The display is nice, but the new cut is a pretentious mess. The display is nice. They’ve got all the cuts ever. Some bright soul has them arranged by the decades they were most popular. It’s really interesting. I do like the old Rose cut. But that new cut is just… busy. I don’t think it’ll take.”
Jimmy shrugged, diamonds were not that interesting to him. They were pretty, expensive, and not for him. “Too bad. But… here. Have some of this. It’s egg salad and avocado, really good. And there’s… um… some sort of pot meat with fancy mayo.”
Abby snickered. “That’s aioli.” She nibbled carefully. “Mmmm, it is good. But I think that pot meat is pâté.”
Jimmy frowned at her for a second. “Okay. But isn’t that expensive?”
“Yes and no. Goose liver is really expensive, but you can make a very acceptable, cheap substitute with chicken or duck. I think this is chicken, with some bacon for the fat.” She took another bite. “And shallots… maybe some rosemary.”
Abby nodded her head. “Oh, look. Aren’t they cute?”
Jimmy looked then snickered. “I don’t think either Ducky nor Tim would appreciate being called cute.”
“But look at them. Tim’s all tec geeking, and Ducky has someone who really wants to hear his stories.”
Jimmy frowned for a moment. “And I don’t understand why Jet is always interrupting him. I like his stories. Tim, AJ, and I sit with him and listen for hours.”
Abby frowned right back. “One, he gets off on a tangent which delays vital intel. Two, some of his stories are still classified. And three, some are about Gibbs being young and stupid. He gets embarrassed.”
Jimmy snickered. “I never thought about it that way.”
Abby opened her mouth to say something else, but shouting and gunfire made her squeak instead.
Jimmy pushed her into a corner and ordered, “Stay right there.”
She just nodded and shrank into her spot.
Jimmy pulled the accordion door nearly closed, hoping no one noticed, then peeked through the crack.
Tim was covering Ducky; neither one of them looked hurt. Jimmy crouched down and tried to signal Tim. Ducky noticed and patted Tim on the arm. A bit of ASL, and a plan was formed. Ducky eased out from under Tim and wriggled toward the door, with Tim right behind him.
No one noticed any of this, as all the other people were either screaming, crying, or yelling for everyone to shut up. The chaos was complete. It didn’t help that each person in the invading team of thieves was yelling different directions from every other.
Tim and Ducky took advantage of the scrambling bodies to make it into the service station.
Tim closed the door behind him. “If we’re lucky they won’t notice this nook until too late. So… plan?”
Ducky offered, “Lay low until they get whatever they want and go.”
Jimmy frowned. “Not really a good plan, frankly. They’ll be looking for stragglers.”
Abby showed her phone. “I called 911. The dispatcher said to stay hidden. Did I do okay?”
“Yes. I was going to call as soon as we got settled.” Tim eyed his phone then turned it to silent. “I don’t want it ringing and giving our position away.”
Everyone else hurried to reset their own phones.
While they were doing that, the invaders had gotten everyone lined up against the back wall and were shouting demands at them. The only problem was, everyone was yelling something different, just as before, so the confused and panicked people had no idea what was wanted, only that their captors were threatening them with guns and screaming at them.
Tim and Ducky used the confusion to good advantage.
Tim whispered, “Okay. What can we do? And what should we do?”
Ducky replied, “I’m not sure. What do we actually have?”
Abby hissed, “Cleaning supplies. Ammonia… bleach… Turpentine. And some bottles. I can make gas bombs and Molotov cocktails. But we’ll have to be really, really careful or we’ll hurt the hostages.”
Jimmy drew his sidearm and checked it. “I’ve got an E26R-9-LEGION. Comes with a 15 shot mag standard and three extra mags. One is extended 20 rounds.”
Tim blinked. “Juliette Foxtrot Charlie. Talk about firepower.” He grinned. “I’ve got my NCIS issue P-226 MX26 and four extra mags. Ducky?”
Ducky shrugged. “I’ve only got a Colt Bulldog revolver. Six shots and I’m out. I’ve got some extra ammo in my pocket, but no reloader, so I’m down for about a minute while I reload.” He grimaced in dismay.
“Don’t worry about it. Some dumbass will lose his weapon, sooner or later. Just pick it up.”
Meanwhile, the invaders had managed to figure out what was wrong. One man, the obvious leader, started issuing orders.
“Okay. Everyone line up along that wall. No screaming, crying, or arguing. I’ll shoot anyone who steps out of line. Move it!”
Everyone scurried to obey.
.
All that noise attracted all kinds of attention from outside the room. Some of the servers had managed to escape and tell their stories. Someone called 911 and internal security worked quickly to get everyone out of the building. Since the thieves were concentrating on the one room, it wasn’t that hard.
This left the police with one large room with narrow windows occupied by six masked men and some twelve hostages. Some of the people in the room had been close enough to various doors to get out before the invaders managed to block them. Cops gathered them in a coffee shop nearby and started interviewing.
SWAT rolled up in their truck and deployed; orders were not to shoot until they could take out all the group at one time. They tried to call the land line in the room but, since there was no operator, they couldn’t get a connection. The Venue Manager had a list of all the people attending the meeting and he was glad to turn it over. The SWAT Leader got someone started on calling all the numbers to try to get contact.
Phones rang and were answered. Other phones rang only to be ignored or declined. A few rang in the ballroom, only to infuriate the invaders; those phones were confiscated and broken.
Tim and Jimmy crowded Abby and Ducky as far back in the nook as they could get. Ducky complained softly, “I’m RED, as you know.”
Tim nodded. “We know but you’re the smartest of us so… protect the brain.”
Abby grumbled, “I’m smart too.”
Jimmy muttered, “Yeah, but you can’t shoot.”
“Jerk.”
“I’d say ‘bitch’ back but it’s not PC, now hush.”
Abby hushed and went back to making something with dressing cups and carryout containers.
Tim peeked out again, then sighed. “Well, one thing good: all the hostages are against the back wall. Bad thing is… the hostiles are behind them.”
Jimmy groaned then snarled, “Damn it. And what the hell do they actually want?”
They found out.
“Where the hell are the rest of the diamonds?”
One brave man hesitantly stepped forward. “There aren’t any. We don’t bring diamonds to this sort of conference.”
“Damn it! There’s diamonds. We saw them. There… in that case. There’s more here somewhere. Give ‘em up.”
While the leader, who Jimmy had dubbed Schmo One, was arguing with the merchant, Minion Two was knocking the small lock off the display and stuffing the trays of zirconiums into a bag.
Tim grimaced. It wasn’t a good idea to argue with a bunch of thugs like these, but the man was trying to explain something. Something that the thieves didn’t want to hear. This was not going to turn out well.
It didn’t. Schmo One shot the man, in the leg, but still. All that did was make everyone scream, throw up, or faint. Chaos wasn’t helpful.
It also made SWAT change tactics. Now they were determined to bring the group down hard. The commander had asked for a list of all the people assumed to be in the room. It was still a work in progress but he took what he could get. A quick read-through gave him an idea. “Look. Here’s some people from NCIS. An ME, his assistant, a squint, and an agent. If we can get in touch with them somehow, maybe we can at least get eyes.”
His 2IC made it happen. The IT tech on the team was careful; he activated Tim’s phone, but sent a silent text. This got the answer that Tim was not happy that they’d taken that chance. His text setting was soft beep and vibrate, but if his phone had been on a hard surface, the noise would have been enough to give away their location. The officer apologized, then asked if they had eyes or were they hunkered down in place.
Tim’s text was simple, “Both.”
The next request was for pictures of the scene which Tim took with his camera and sent with the note that the group were demanding diamonds that didn’t exist and were getting more and more insistent by the second.
CO Lt. McPherson grumbled, “Well, shit. We’re on a short fuse. Those guys are gonna get impatient soon and start killing people. They shot one guy already. I just hope that poor sucker doesn’t bleed out before we can get in there.”
2IC Sgt. Caplan offered, “Well, those narrow windows don’t give a good line of sight, but maybe we could get them all at one time?”
“Good luck with that one. Get with the snipers and ask.”
McPherson had Officer/Tech Donaldson ask about arms next. When he saw the inventory he swore, then said, “What the actual fuck? Are they nuts?”
“Don’t know.” Officer Donaldson shrugged. “Who knows what the feebs are thinking?”
“Yeah. But… um… gas bombs?”
“No idea whatsoever.” He thought for a moment then, added, “And I don’t want one, either.”
Sgt. Caplan came back with the bad news: there was no way for the snipers to get a bead on anyone through those narrow windows. They were special glass and actually distorted the line of sight.
“Well, shit.” Lt. McPherson ran a hand over his buzzcut. “Now what?”
“We’ve got assets… if we can figure out how to use them.”
Several text messages left everyone frustrated. There was no way for SWAT to get into the room quietly; all the doors were chained shut from the inside. The only door that wasn’t was the glass door that led to the lobby; one of the thieves was stationed there.
Tim sighed, “If I had a silencer I could pick that guy on the lobby door off without too much notice. They’re all still busy either demanding diamonds that don’t exist or trying to explain that. I’m surprised that they haven’t shot someone else yet.”
Abby nodded. “I could make a silencer; I’ve got the license, but I need a lathe and a bunch of other stuff. All that shit about homemade silencers is exactly that… shit.”
“I know. And you know what AJ says… wish in one hand, shit in the other; see which one fills up first.”
More texting between SWAT and Tim produced the best plan they could manage. There were six men, one on the glass door, two harassing the hostages, one on each of the chained doors and one just standing by with the bag of zirconias. SWAT wished they could get Tim and Jimmy a couple of flash-bangs but that was a definite no-go. Abby had managed a few gas grenades with ammonia and bleach, this was what she was making with the dressing cups and carry-out containers. She had made them fairly weak, on a level with strong mace, and had told SWAT to be prepared to water the floor down as soon as possible.
So they waited until everyone was in position, then Lt. McPherson shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” and a simultaneous attack began. One team for each door, and Tim, Jimmy, and Ducky. Abby stayed back.
Two teams started breaking down the chained doors with cement-filled pipes with handles, called Door Knockers. Another just shot the guard on the glass doors through the glass, then rushed the room. They all were wearing gas masks, as Abby had told them there would be gas.
While all this was going on, Tim and Jimmy were holding their weapons on the room. If any of the thieves tried to shoot any of the hostages, they were dead. Abby threw her gas bombs into the room and clouds of toxic gas billowed around the areas. She had good aim and two bombs fell at the feet of Schmo One, and another actually hit the roaming man in the chest.
The chained doors burst open and SWAT rushed in. They started grabbing people and pushing them toward the door. Most of the men were coughing and tearing, but they ran for the doors obediently.
The men who had been guarding the doors had run into the room the second they were breached.
Abby pointed. “Ducky! That one’s gonna shoot that SWAT guy.”
Ducky drew his pistol and took aim. The snub nose of the Bulldog made it a short range weapon, but Ducky was accurate up to the longest shot possible. He shot the thief center mass, knocking him down. His head hit the floor, which knocked him out.
Tim and Jimmy were standing right in front of the nook. This kept them out of the line of fire, but allowed them to aid as needed. As the SWAT team was good, it wasn’t much. Tim knocked the roaming guard out; he was gagging on the gas, so it was more a mercy than anything else. Jimmy dodged gunfire and gas to make it to the man who’d been shot in the leg. He was in bad shape, unconscious from blood loss, so Jimmy picked him up in a fireman’s carry, still holding his sidearm, and carried him out of the gas.
He put the man on a table, which he cleared with a sweep of his hand. “Ducky! Bring my ruck.”
But Ducky was already right there, ruck in hand. “Right here.”
Ducky took over treatment. “Very well, let’s see what we have here.” Ducky began his examination by using medical scissors to cut the pants leg out of the way. “Jimmy, we have a through-and-through. Happily, it missed anything vital. Get me two pressure packs and an Ace. We’ll just wrap him up for transport.”
Jimmy passed Ducky the required supplies, saying, “Here you go. I wish we had an IV set up. I carry a couple in my full ruck, but I only brought about half. I didn’t think we’d be in the middle of a damn shootout.”
An EMT approached with his gear. “Okay. I’m here. Triage?”
Ducky gave him a quick rundown and finished, “I’d advise putting him in a truck and heading for the hospital. He’s stable for now.”
The EMT and his partner ran the usual before-transport checks. “Great. Either one of you a physician?”
Ducky smiled. “We both are. Now take our friend and go. Safe travel.”
“Thanks. We’ll take good care of him.”
While they were talking, the EMT’s got an IV in one arm and wrapped another bandage around the man’s leg.
“Okay. IV… in. Let’s go.”
They moved their patient to the gurney, took him to the ambulance, and were gone.
A uniform stopped by to say, “I know you know the drill, bein’ NCIS an’ all. But, don’t leave the building until someone’s had a word with you.” He smiled. “And thanks for the medic, I don’t think that man had much longer.”
Ducky shook his head. “No thanks needed. I agree with you, I don’t believe he had more than five more minutes. I’m sure he’ll make it now.” He eyed his bloody hands with a grimace. “I need to wash up. Gent’s room?”
“Go ahead.” The uniform ambled off making notes in his book as he went.
Ducky took a moment to look around. Tim was in the middle of a group of officers who were pelting him with questions. Jimmy had disappeared, he assumed to the restroom to wash up. Abby was sprinkling something on the small spots of fluid left from her bombs and telling a man with a mop and bucket how to clean the mess up safely.
Ducky quickly washed his hands and arms, then dried them. He took a moment just to relax and get himself together. He hated it when civilians got involved in a shitstorm like this. They shouldn’t have to deal with it.
Jimmy had already washed his hands and was sitting on the floor. “Ducky, pull up a piece of floor. Sit down for a bit.”
“I believe I will.” Ducky settled beside Jimmy and leaned his head against the wall. “Goodness me.”
“Tired?”
Ducky shrugged.
“Me too. We can just sit here until someone comes looking.”
“Someone’ll hunt us down in about ten. Bet.”
“I’m much too old and wise to take a sucker bet like that one. Pull the other one; it’s got bells on.”
Jimmy didn’t get to reply, as someone knocked on the door then opened it. A man they didn’t know stuck his head in and asked, “You Mallard and Palmer?”
Ducky nodded, then got up with a bit of help from Jimmy. “We are. And you are?”
“Detective Nigel Wayne. I just need a few questions answered. And I’ll have to relieve you of your sidearms. Sorry.”
Ducky handed over his Bulldog without complaint, but Jimmy announced that he wasn’t turning over a twelve hundred dollar Glock and over three hundred dollars of mags and ammo without a court order and a receipt.
Detective Wayne just nodded. “Okay. I’ll get your papers for you. I do realize that handing over your personal arm is a big imposition. I’ll personally guarantee that you’ll get it back in perfect shape.”
Jimmy just nodded.
Detective Wayne refrained from further comment and led the way to a small room that was obviously an employees’ break room. They settled at one of the tables, while both Jimmy and Ducky noticed that Tim was at another table farther down the room. Abby was conspicuously absent.
“Where’s Abby?”
“Who?”
“Dr. Abigail Sciuto.”
“Oh, her. Smart lady. She’s supervising the cleanup of her… whatever the hell you call ‘em. Involves vinegar and… something.”
Jimmy relaxed. “Okay. She been interviewed yet?”
“Don’t think so. We’ll get you set up somewhere after you give a statement and surrender your arms. You can wait there until you’re all interviewed.” Another detective came and took Ducky to another table. “Okay. So… What the actual fuck?”
It took nearly an hour for all four friends to make their statements, most of the hold-up was waiting for the court order and invoice for all their arms. Jimmy wound up handing over his Glock, but not his mags; Tim the same. Ducky had just handed his Bulldog over, but got an invoice just the same. Abby had to write out what she’d used to make her bombs.
After all the t’s were crossed and i’s dotted, the four headed back to their hotel. On the way they got a text that informed them that the Forensics Conference had been cancelled, as most of the participants had headed for home already.
Abby announced, “I’m taking a shower, then changing my clothes… you guys?”
Ducky nodded. “Shower, clean things, then… food. I’m hungry.”
Tim and Jimmy agreed with Abby and Ducky, so they split up for their rooms to shower and change, then meet back up in the bar.
It didn’t take long for everyone to clean up, dress, and get to the bar. Tim and Jimmy had dressed in coyote BDU’s and desert boots. Tim wore a dark green t-shirt, while Jimmy wore brown. Abby had dressed in Docker cargo pants, with a green tank-top printed with pickles. Ducky was his usual casual, tweedy self.
They met in the entryway to the bar/restaurant and waited for the hostess to seat them, which didn’t take long. She smiled and led them to a table for six. “Is this okay? We don’t have any tables for four empty, and I didn’t want you to wait.”
Ducky nodded. “It’s fine.” A bus boy came to remove the unneeded chairs.
They settled at their table with sighs of relief. They were all winding down from the adrenaline rush of the day and were definitely hungry. They all agreed that they’d stick to beer and have no more than one before the food came.
When the waitress came over, Abby ordered a Negra-Modello, a dark Mexican beer. Ducky, Tim, and Jimmy ordered Guinness. Sylvia handed menus around and announced, “Okay. Drinks right up.”
The menu was typical bar food, but the place had four and a half stars on GoodEats. Abby eyed the menu for a moment then said, “I hate this. I want some of everything and… well, I’ll be sick if I order what I want.”
Tim shrugged. “Okay. I want sliders, wings, and potato skins.”
Jimmy put his menu down, saying, “Yeah, but crab sliders, fried pickles, and onion rings for me.”
Ducky added, “I would love chicken yakitori, artichoke dip, and mini-meatballs with ranch sauce.”
Abby scribbled on a napkin, eyed it for a moment then said, “Great. We’ll just order the slider plate, it has burgers, crab salad and b-b-q chicken, fried pickles, potato skins, wings, yakitori, dip, meatballs and… they don’t have onion rings?” Abby eyed Jimmy.
“I didn’t say they were on the menu, just that I want some. I’ll take…” He thought for a moment then shrugged. “I’ll just eat what’s on your list. We’ve ordered plenty. If not, we can always order more.”
So, when the server returned Ducky ordered. She eyed him for a moment then said, “I know I shouldn’t ask… but, are you sure?”
Jimmy smirked at her. “Tim and I run at least four miles a day. Besides, getting shot at makes me hungry.”
The server started to say something, shut her mouth, opened it again, then managed, “Holy shit!” She flushed then scurried away to drop their order.
She came back in about fifteen minutes with the food and the information that the hotel had comped everything from now until the time they left.
Jimmy blinked, started to say something, then just thanked her; Tim, Ducky, and Abby followed suit.
Abby nibbled at a potato skin. “Amazing what you can do with a potato skin. I wonder what they do with the inside. Seems a shame to waste it.”
The bartender, who’d brought out a tray of drinks to help out, overheard and answered. “We’re very responsible about foods. The insides go into the mashed potatoes.”
Tim grinned. “Sounds good. I wish you had fried potato cakes. AJ makes the best.”
“What’s that?” Mac took his ticket pad out of his pocket. “Recipe? Please?”
“Sure. Mashed potatoes, hashbrowns, eggs, bit of flour, salt, and pepper. Tony says that giving regular proportions isn’t a good idea as it depends on the water content. But for one cup of mash, half a cup of hashbrowns, an egg, half teaspoon of salt, pepper to taste, then add flour until it makes a soft dough. I add a bit of Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco sauce, and finely chopped chives. Fry in butter until brown, and serve with sour cream and more chives. If you make them about the size of a silver dollar they’re finger food.”
“Wow! Sounds good. Thanks.”
“Welcome. Beer around.”
“Right on it.”
They continued to snack and drink.
They discussed the day, the way SWAT had behaved, the easy way the detectives had debriefed them.
Tim nodded to Jimmy. “Some of our people could learn a thing or two. I swear, Franklin is so ham-handed that he pisses witnesses off so bad they quit cooperating.”
Jimmy agreed. “Yeah, I had one guy actually tell me that, if he wasn’t gone in five minutes, I’d need another body bag. Jet was livid.”
Ducky shook his head. “Jet may irritate everyone in the agency at one time or another, but he’s never lost a witness through stupidity.”
They agreed that the agent in question should never be allowed anywhere near a debrief or deposition, ever.
They were discussing the wisdom of more beers when the bartender came over with a plate. “Hey. The chef tried that recipe. Taste those and see what you think.”
Everyone took a pancake. Abby hummed her appreciation. “Oh, very good.”
Jimmy and Tim agreed with their mouths full. Ducky took exception to this and scolded, “Mouths shut. The Barman will think you’re savages. However, they are particularly good… or I’m pished.”
The bartender looked puzzled. “Excuse me?”
Abby giggled. “Ducky is Scottish. Pished is Scottish for drunk. And I am.”
Tim and Jimmy agreed that they were cut off for the evening. Tim announced, “We’ll sit here for a bit then head up to bed. We’ll have to make connections back to DC. Um… later.”
They visited for about a half hour then got up to head up to bed.
Tim yawned then said, “I wonder how AJ and the guys are?”
Jimmy snorted rudely. “Probably sitting around on their asses, waiting for something to break. Bed.”
They poured themselves into the elevator and headed up to bed.
<><><>
WOMBAT: Waste Of Money, Brains And Time
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Please do not ask me for the SEAL mission story. I haven’t written it yet, it’s the next story. Constant requests for stories really put me off stride.
I made up the convention center so that I could arrange it to suit the story.
The carver is just like many men I’ve dealt with over the years. I like my steak, prime rib, and roast mooing; have since I was about 8. I can’t count the number of servers who’ve actually told me I wouldn’t like it. I’ve actually had to send steaks back.
The President of a bridge club is often referred to as The Elder Statesman. Or was in my bridge days.
A sugar shell is the spoon that is used to spoon sugar into your cup; it is not used to stir the cup.
Eton Mess - crumbled meringues, sugared strawberries, and whipped cream
Berry Trifle - layered Strawberries, liquor soaked pound cake, blue berries, liquor soaked pound cake, raspberries, whipped cream
Individual Steamed Lemon Pudding with treacle sauce - self explanatory
Sticky Toffee pudding with caramel sauce - self explanatory
Spotted Dick - a pudding made of suet, dried fruit, sugar, and flour
Delta Mike Foxtrot - Dumb Mother Fucker. (dumbfuckitis)
UFO - Utterly Fucked Over (I rather like “unidentifiable fucked-up object” myself. ;D - Jake)
Sierra Sierra - shitstorm