McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 389: Support
"Burley." Stan answers.
"What do you have, Stan?"
"Gibbs?" Burley's confused. This whole thing has been confusing. He got a call just as it was quitting time, from the Director of NCIS, no less, demanding he get his team on a ship that was way the hell out of his jurisdiction, for something, Vance didn't say what, just that the Lt. James, (whoever the hell that is) and the Agent Afloat Sarah Angua would get him up to date as soon as he got there. And now, from nowhere, Gibbs is calling for an update.
Asking for an update before he's even begun the case. This feels like morphing back in time.
"Yeah. What'd'ya have?" He's sounding impatient, and ready to start biting the heads off of things.
"Nothing, I'm still in the air. Gibbs, I haven't even been briefed on what I'm investigating yet. I just know I was told to get my team to the Stennis ASAP and the Agent Afloat would get me up to speed. I'm on a cargo plane, still an hour out."
Gibbs bites his lip. "You remember my retirement party?"
"Lot of it's pretty hazy. After the second bottle, things started to go sideways. Can't party like I used to."
"Not that one. The one at the diner that everyone went to."
The one that wasn't really a party. "Oh. Yeah. Okay. Enough."
"Tall, thin guy, married to Abby, little baby girl, one of my kids."
"Yeah. Tim, right? Think I've worked with him once, twice maybe?"
"Right. That's his dad's ship." He says the next bit voice low, trying to not broadcast this all over the hospital, but his voice is very hot, and Leon notices, watches, as he says, "Son of a bitch abused him as a kid, but he got an assignment on that ship, and he didn't say anything because he's a pro and he'll do his job wherever that job takes him, so he went and that…" there aren't words foul enough for McGee, "thing tried to have him killed while he was on the ship."
"Holy fuck! Tried?"
"He's alive. I'm in the hospital with him, and Abby, his pregnant wife."
"Okay. Got it."
Vance has taken three steps closer to Jethro and motions for the phone, he hands it over.
"Agent Burley, this is Director Vance."
"Director." Burley's confused, and then he's impressed. He was impressed that whatever this was the Director was handling it. He's more impressed now. The Director of NCIS is in the hospital with McGee, which means McGee is connected. Which blows Burley's mind, because the last time he saw McGee at work the only real impression he had was of a somewhat timid guy doing his job quietly.
"Agent Burley, I know you have a reputation for the highest standards of professionalism. No matter how painful this case is and how personally satisfying it would be to absolutely destroy anyone even remotely related to it, you are to do your job, as a professional. You are an officer of the law and you will act like one."
"Yes, sir."
"The Admiral," Oh God, Tim's father is an Admiral? This is going to be a mess. "is a well-respected member of the Navy. He is on the President's Drone Task Force. He is on good terms with the Former Secretary of State, who is, as you know, currently running for President. So this investigation will be letter perfect, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"You will investigate as long, and as hard, and as deeply as you need to. If anyone tries to pull rank on you, shoot them down. If you do not receive the fullest cooperation on every single aspect of this case feel free to charge everyone with obstruction of justice. The Secretary of the Navy has your back on this, but you will also follow all the rules, fill out all the forms, dot all the is, cross all the ts, and make sure that when this goes to trial that no one can claim any sort of partiality was involved."
"Yes, sir."
Vance hands the phone back to Gibbs. Gibbs doesn't have anything to add to that.
Apparently Burley can tell the difference between them by the quality of the silence on the other side of the phone. "I'll give you a call once I get on board and start figuring out what's going on."
"Thanks, Stan."
Leon's staring at Gibbs, and Gibbs knows why.
"Some of us know, the outside world doesn't. Hell, even DiNozzo doesn't have the whole story. It's need to know, and you didn't."
"He should have—" Gibbs cuts Vance off as Leon remembers that Tim did suggest a different ship.
"Mentioned it? Asked for a different ship because his dad was on it? Open this up for everyone to see? You know how private he is. Abby didn't know about it until last year."
"God." Vance shakes his head.
"He hates ships, gets seasick something fierce, his Dad was a nightmare before this, but the job was on that ship so he went on that ship to do the job. Abby didn't want him to go. I didn't want him to go. Lots of other ships in the Navy. He could run the attack from anywhere, but…"
Jimmy steps out of Tim's room. Gibbs looks at him, as if he's got some answers. "Still asleep. Been reading his medical records, looks like they're doing a good job. Supposedly there's an orthopedic specialist around here somewhere. The guy who took care of his arm. I'm going to hunt him down and talk to him."
Gibbs and Vance nod at that.
Jimmy takes a detour on the way to finding the surgeon. He heads for the bathroom, locks the door, sits down, and lets himself break down.
Couldn't the shit with Tony have been enough? Did this really have to run right on its heels?
He's sobbing as quietly as he can, pouring out this, and well, everything. Right now he wants Breena so badly, needs to bury his face against her neck and just let go, but she's corralling the crew back home.
He knew, as he was reading the medical records, that he wasn't going to be able to handle this, not the way he needs to handle it. He was only in there for ten minutes, and was having a hell of a time staying calm.
He's a doctor, emotions shut down, logic, calm, healing, that's supposed to take over.
And it's not. That's why you don't treat your family.
He wipes his eyes, which isn't useful, he's still crying. He wants to rage. He wants to break people. Wants to break everyone who laid a hand on Tim. And he can't.
He hears a soft knock. "Occupied," Jimmy chokes out.
"It's me." Gibbs' voice.
He gets up slowly, wiping his eyes, and takes the two steps to the door, opening it.
"Trying to not lose it in front of Abby." His voice cracks on that.
Gibbs nods, shutting the door and locking it behind him. "You lasted longer in there than I could." Gibbs wraps him in a hug, and Jimmy sobs more.
After a minute, he steps back. Taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I heard what Vance said to you."
Gibbs raises an eyebrow.
"About the rifle. And come on, I know what your go bag looks like. You don't need a duffle for however long we're going to be here. So, I know what's in there. And I know you can't take the shot."
Gibbs is looking stunned and angry at that.
"And you can't get close enough to him for a knife."
Gibbs' eyes narrow. "Why can't I take the shot?"
"Because you're a fucking sniper, Jethro! People who hurt your family end up dead by a sniper's shot, and unless at least fifty people can place where the hell you are when the Admiral bites it, you're going to jail for the rest of your life. And it's basically the same goddamned reason why Ziva and Tony can't take the shot, either." Jimmy swallows hard. "First time Tim took me shooting, I said to him, 'It's like yoga with explosions. Relax, find your center, slow down, focus, target, gently squeeze.' He said not to let you know that, because you'd turn me into a sniper." Jimmy's staring at Gibbs, eyes red and puffy, very determined.
"It's a patience and focus skill, right?"
Gibbs is staring at Jimmy, really seeing him, thinking. "Yeah, it is. Some math, too. Some mechanics. Mostly it's waiting until it's time to pull the trigger, not rushing."
"And by this point, my vision's not much worse than yours is. Probably better when I've got my glasses on than yours is. Just you and me. The rest of them don't need to know. Take an hour or so to practice every time when we're supposed to be working on the house. Got lots of room out there. Take Shannon out, teach me how to sail, too, shoot down the water, no one to see, no risk of hitting anyone."
Gibbs shrugs. "You won't pick it up fast."
"It's a patience skill. It doesn't have to happen overnight. One day, something'll happen to John. And Leon'll hand it over to whoever, Metro, so that he can claim everything is above board, no cover up. Every cop'll show up at your door, asking lots of questions, but you'll have a solid alibi, in public, probably with Penny. They'll poke around Tony and Ziva, hell, maybe even Ducky, he's got a military background. But they aren't going to ask about me, not deep. They'll run a quick check, and I'll have cover for it, and that'll be that. Never solved."
Gibbs licks his lips. "We telling Tim?"
"Were you planning on telling him what you were going to do?"
"No, but he'd know."
"Permission. We're asking permission and leaving it there. He gets to decide what happens to John. But if he says yes, one day, something is going to happen, and you're going to be with Penny when it happens, so she won't think you killed him, so she'll be able to… pretend or whatever."
Gibbs nods. "You and Tim have just done handguns, right?"
Jimmy nods, too.
"It's different than a handgun."
"I'd imagine." Jimmy heads to the sink and begins to wash off his face, hoping cool water will help with the swelling.
"Say the words, Jimmy."
He looks at Gibbs in the mirror, unsure of what Gibbs is telling him to do. "Not teaching you how to do this if you can't even say the word."
"Show me how to take the shot, and I will kill John McGee with it."
"Okay." Jimmy straightens up, grabs a paper towel, dries his face off, and then turns to Gibbs. "Your turn."
"If you'll kill John McGee, I'll teach you how to take the shot."
"Um… No." Jimmy steps closer and hugs Gibbs. "Your turn to let it out. We need to be her rock to cry on, doesn't mean we don't get to cry, too."
For a second Gibbs stands there, stiff, uncomfortable, but Jimmy is holding him, gently rubbing the back of his head, and from the feel of it, isn't letting go anytime soon.
"You can't spend the whole time we're here hiding in the hall or raging about this. Which means you need to do something with it. We're not killing anyone today, so let go. I've got you."
And eventually, after a few more breaths, Jimmy feels Gibbs start to shake.
It takes another half hour or so for Jimmy to get himself (and Gibbs) entirely back together, but he does, and he gets his phone out, noticing it's only a bit past eight thirty at home, and texts Breena.
We're here, got him taken care of. Who's at home?
A minute later he gets. Everyone but Sarah and Glenn. Decided to hold off on calling them until we know how he is. How is he?
Bad. Alive and he'll heal, but it's bad. Going to talk to his surgeon next, find out exactly how bad his arm is.
How bad does it look?
Jimmy rubs his eyes. Did Ducky bring his computer?
Yeah.
Tell him to log onto the Federal Medical Records database and use my ID. He used to specialize in hands surgery, ask him to give it a good going over.
Breena knows when he doesn't want to answer a question. Jimmy, how bad is it?
Bad enough I'm crying, too.
Shit. Any idea when he'll be able to come home?
No. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe Monday, Tuesday is more likely. Got to get his arm out of traction before he can move.
Oh God. Ducky just got logged in.
Go, read. Gibbs and I are going to talk to the surgeon. I'll text back when I know more.
Okay.
Breena waited until 7:00 to give everyone a call. And by everyone, she meant Ziva, who will have no problem corralling the rest of the crew and getting them over to her place, because honestly, getting three kids under the age of 2 ½ and a dog all fed breakfast at once while on the phone is just too damn much.
She talks to Ziva briefly, explains that everyone needs to be at her house as soon as they can, and Ziva, who is always rock solid in a crisis asks just enough questions to know that no one is dead, and who qualifies as everyone, and then takes over.
Tony is stalking around Breena's house like a caged tiger. A deeply unhappy caged tiger. Ziva's still, but no less agitated. Ducky's getting his computer set up and logged onto the Palmers' Wi-Fi so they've got ready communications.
And then…
And then there's nothing to do but wait.
And waiting is not Tony's strong suit.
"Why are we not on that jet?"
Breena shrugs. She assumes that there's a reason why Vance didn't call them to run the case, but off the top of her head, she doesn't know what it is.
"We should be on that jet, and then on that ship, and then making every single other person on that ship sing. We should be hanging John up by his toenails, getting a confession out of him, we should be…" He shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
Vance feels like a seventh wheel. He's not family, and doesn't want to go into Tim's room by himself with just Abby. But he doesn't want to leave either. Doesn't have anywhere to go. He's thinking of heading off to find all of them some sort of breakfast when he gets a call and sees the name on the ID. DiNozzo.
"Agent DiNozzo, calling in to brief me on your current case?"
"Director—"
"No time for that right now. I'm eager to hear about it, but kind of busy. I should be back on the East Coast late tonight, so how about you, Agent DiNozzo, and Dr. Mallard all join me at my house for breakfast tomorrow morning say, 07:00 to tell me all about it?"
"Director—"
"Splendid. I'll see you then." And he hangs up.
"What was that?" Ziva asks. She expects Tony to get more than two words out. They all do.
"He won't say anything. Didn't let me get a word in. We've got a breakfast date at his place tomorrow at 07:00."
Ziva looks puzzled, but Ducky gets it. "Oh."
"Oh?" Breena asks.
"Do you remember a few years ago when the IRS conveniently lost all communications between its Director and certain outside groups?"
Ziva nods, Tony doesn't. He doesn't pay all that much attention to larger politics.
Penny already knows where this is going so she says, "Last year, after the fall-out from that settled down, all communications for any Director of a Federal Agency is now copied and kept off-site. I'd bet that includes any conversations on their cell phones, or at least phone logs.
"Ah. Breakfast tomorrow, then." Ziva says.
"When we won't be overheard." Tony nods. "I get it." And suddenly he does. Suddenly furious and scared clear enough that he does get it. "We're not on this so that it looks proper. Has to look by the books because he's an Admiral. He'll have top lawyers and there can't be any wiggle room for him." Then he gets the deeper level, the reason why they aren't going to wait to see what whoever actually is investigating this manages to find. There's probably nothing to find to link John to this. They're going off the books on this one, way, way off the books. "Whatever we're really going to do, that'll be what we talk about tomorrow."
Breena's phone beeps, and she spends a few moments texting.
"Ducky, can you log onto the Federal Medical Records Database? Use Jimmy's account. Tim's stuff is in there."
Ducky nods, and gets to it. He reads the notes out-loud, voice getting angrier with every sentence. While Tony, Penny, Ziva, and Breena hover around, listening, getting paler and more furious by each word.
Ducky's last word falls, and for a second there's just silence then Tony says, "He's dead. John's dead. And if Gibbs doesn't do it, I will." Then he realizes Penny's sitting right next to him. "Oh, Penny… I—" he doesn't know what to say. John's dead. That's a fact, and it's a fact he's in no way sorry about. He will destroy that man if Gibbs doesn't, and he will enjoy every second of it. But his mom is sitting right next to him. Tony weakly says, "Tim's really hurt."
She nods. Ducky explained each bit as he read it. And there's more stuff that isn't in those records, yet. She knows exactly how bad this is. "I know Tony." She rubs her eyes and stands up, heading to the back porch. Ducky follows. They hear the door open, then close, and the faint sound of Ducky's voice, along with the louder sound of Penny sobbing.
No one has ever accused Penny Langston of being a weak woman. A raving bitch, oh yes, but weak? No.
But right now she hurts so bad she just wants to collapse.
She's sitting on the Palmer's back porch, sobbing, face buried in Ducky's shoulder as he holds her and gently pets her back.
Whether John did it or not, they're going to kill him. She wants to believe he's not responsible. She needs to believe it.
But she doesn't. She knows her son, and she knows the man he was raised and trained to be. Nothing happens on his ship without his approval.
"They're going to kill my son," she says quietly, to Ducky.
He holds her a little tighter, kissing her gently.
"He's my son, and I know… I know… But…" Sobbing replaces words. A moment later she gets out, "I've already outlived one child; I don't think I can do it again."
"Shhh… None of that. Whatever comes next, we'll get through, together."
"No we won't. You didn't raise a monster. It's not your child that tried to destroy your grandchild. It's not your family that's going to murder your son."
"I know. And I'm not going to pretend I can even imagine I know how this feels. But I'm here, and I will be here, with you, for you. And if we are even remotely lucky, John will have the good sense to do the right thing and take this out of our hands."
When Jimmy and Gibbs get back from talking to the surgeon, Vance also heads into Tim's room. He figures they can all get each other up to date in one run.
He feels his blood boil at the sight of McGee again, and forces it down.
Tim is, fortunately, asleep.
Vance has three large cups of coffee, and… and he doesn't know what Abby likes when she's pregnant, but he's fairly sure Caf-Pow is not what the doctor ordered right now, so he's also got a large iced-green tea.
There's a bag in his other hand, it's filled with muffins and pastries. He knows that besides Jimmy, none of them have eaten, and they could probably all use food.
"Jarvis and James have headed back to DC." Vance says, quietly, as Gibbs and Abby pick through the pastries. Jimmy shakes his head at them. "He's called John Ramis," none of them recognize that name, "highest ranking Naval Doctor, personal physician to the Vice President. He's looking over the case and will be giving you a call, Jimmy.
"Agent Burley just texted me to let me know he's aboard the Stennis, has met with Agent Angua, and is reading through all the notes they currently have on the case, and will soon be beginning to interrogate the three who assaulted Tim who can talk. Angua is still running the hunt for Lt. Mane. They have Tim's computer, but they think it's been so damaged they can't get anything off of it."
Tim slowly shakes his head, eyes still shut. "Can't figure out how to open it."
"How long have you been awake?" Abby asks, stroking his wrist.
"I don't know. Is that food?" Abby looks at Jimmy. Can he eat? on her face.
Jimmy shrugs. "Yeah Tim, Vance brought us some muffins and pastries. If the nurse says it's okay, there's a bear claw in there that's all yours." Jimmy gets off the sofa and hits the call button. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone beat the shit out of me and then made me eat the shit."
Vance looks slightly alarmed by that. Jimmy catches his eye and mouths, pain medication. "How badly are you hurting?"
One of Tim's eyes slowly slides open and meanders toward Jimmy. It takes a few seconds to fully focus on him. "Was beat the shit out of me unclear?"
Jimmy snorts slightly at that, hand gently resting on the unbruised bit of Tim's shoulder. "You're fun when you're stoned."
"I'm hurting too bad to be stoned."
"I'll make sure you get more pain medication. Need anything else?"
That eye slides shut again. "Water?"
"Yeah, I think we can get you some water. Drink slow, okay?"
"Okay."
A moment later Abby's holding a cup to his lips, letting him have a few sips of water.
"More?" he asks when she pulls back.
Jimmy shakes his head. "Give it a few minutes, see if this stays down."
"I'm so thirsty."
"You want one of those—" Jimmy's reaching for one of those sponge lollipop things when Tim cuts him off.
"No, I want a fucking drink! I don't care if I throw it up."
"Too bad. Five minutes. And don't pout at me about it. You're not cute enough to pull it off today," Jimmy says. He kept his voice joking, but the three of them who have their eyes open can see this is killing Jimmy. He wants to give Tim a drink. He doesn't want him retching and puking with broken ribs and his arm in traction.
That one eye of Tim's opens again (which is when it occurs to Jimmy the other one is probably too swollen to open easily) and he tries to glare at Jimmy.
"Glaring's not going to do it either. Your ribs are broken and puking with broken ribs is going to make the pain you're in right now look like a field day. So, hold on for a few minutes, suck on the damn sponge, and pretend I know something about this what with the whole went to medical school thing."
Tim sighs and closes his eye again. "Sponge tastes like lemon juice and vinegar."
"I'll rinse it out and soak it in water."
"Thanks."
"What was that about not being able to open your computer?" Vance asks.
Both of Tim's eyes open this time. He's looking at Vance, bleary and confused. "Director. You're here?"
Vance nods.
"Wow. Must have been pretty fucking close to dead if you're here. Um… You asked me something, didn't you?"
"Doesn't matter," Vance replies, shaking his head.
Abby looks over to Vance. "Give me your phone."
Abby here: She texts to Burley. What happens when you try to make his computer work?
A minute later Stan replies: Hit the power button, the computer whirs a little, screen goes from black to blue for five seconds, then everything goes black again.
)9pfhrubgTHF64^^
What?
Type it in when the screen goes blue. His computer locks and encrypts if he hits a certain key on it. He probably locked it. That'll unlock it.
Thanks.
Jimmy returns with the de-lemoned lollisponge, just the same time the nurse comes in.
"Can he have solid food?" Jimmy asks.
"Not yet," he answers. "Solid food for dinner, maybe tomorrow depending on how you're feeling. We've got chicken broth and beef broth, though."
"Beef," Tim says. "More pain meds would be good, too. And would you please tell him I can have more water."
"How much did you give him?"
"About a tablespoon," Abby answers.
"Keep that down for about five minutes and you can have more water, broth, and jello if you like."
Tim's not looking happy about that, though with as messed up as his face is right now Jimmy's not sure if he's reading an expression so much as just knowing what he's feeling.
"Pain meds?" Jimmy asks.
The nurse nods, and then checks Tim's charts. "We can up the dosage."
"Good," Tim says. "Is Jethro here?"
"Yeah, Tim." He'd been standing at the end of Tim's bed. He very gently touches the sole of Tim's unbroken foot.
His head turns a few degrees toward where Jethro is, but his eyes stay shut. "Oh. Good. Thought I was kind of dreaming it. Could sort of feel you in here, but couldn't see or hear you."
"I'm here."
The nurse heads off, and it looks like it was just a matter of sheer luck, because the possibility that Tim was even remotely aware of her being in or out of the room was nil.
"Don't kill him, okay? That's mine. You, too Abby. No one's dying today, okay?"
"Not killing anyone today, and we're not talking about this until we're home, and you're off the drugs, Tim."
"Oh. Right." He nods. "Shit, is the nurse still in here?"
"No, Tim," Vance says.
"But you are, fuck. Ummm... Yeah, off the drugs. When'll that be?"
"We just got back from talking to your doctor," Jimmy says. "Good news, they're not just laying down words to make you happy, that arm really will heal up."
"Isn't that usually followed by bad news?" Tim asks.
"Mediocre news. Your hand's going to be in traction until Tuesday, so not getting home before Wednesday."
Abby's looking at Jimmy, checking to make sure he's not whitewashing it. He nods. Tim's looking at a ton of PT, some of which he's already planning, but, given the time to let it really heal, and working at it, he'll get the use of his hand back.
"By the time Sean shows up, you should be able to bring your diaper changing A game to the party."
Tim smiles a little at that.
Eventually there's nothing left to do. They've got the official news. They're off the case, so it's not like they can do any work on it. They're waiting for Vance to get back to even get any word, and sure, they could hack Burley's notes, except, oh no, they can't, because the guy who does that for them is the victim. And right now Tony doesn't trust Draga enough to call him in to do the hacking for this.
Penny's still crying on the porch. Ducky's trying to comfort her. After another moment of that, Ziva stands up and heads out there. It hits Tony that Ziva's got some insight in someone you love going very, very wrong.
And more insight than anyone should ever want to have about doing something about it.
Ducky comes back in, looking wrought out, shoulders slumped, caught between anger and grief. He picks up Anna who's been relaxing in a sort of laid back way, and snuggles her. (Through all of this Molly and Kelly have been watching, transfixed (because neither of them gets to watch a lot of TV) Dragon Tales. Say whatever you want about children's TV, when you need some time with your kids paying attention to something other than you, it works a treat.)
Breena sits next to him, arm around him. "How's she doing?"
"Wretched."
Breena kisses him, squeezing him a little tighter. "You got them?" She looks at the girls, and Tony nods. Then Breena gets up and heads out, too.
Ten minutes of nothing but just sitting around passes. Finally Tony says, "A while back, he told me he was dealing with stuff, old stuff, he didn't want to talk about it, but if I wanted to know I could ask Gibbs or Jimmy. They're not here, but… I mean… Look, I'm not blind, I could see how on edge they were about Tim getting on that ship, especially Gibbs. That's not just they don't get along, so… Do you know?"
Ducky nods, wearily. "He said you could ask?"
"Yeah. He didn't want to talk about it personally, but I could ask if I wanted to. Said, I'd wait until he could tell me himself, but…"
"It's not that they, as you said, 'don't get along.'" Ducky looks away for a moment. "From everything I've been told, from everything Timothy is saying, it was never physical. But John is just as good with words at Timothy is, and he used them, and his power, to keep Timothy terrified more or less the entire time he lived at home. He abused Timothy verbally from the age of six until Timothy stopped talking to him. He made… exceptionally painful threats involving dragging Timothy onto his ship and physically maiming him and sexually torturing him. There is a very good reason why Timothy gets seasick practically before he gets on the ship, and that it doesn't matter if it's moving or not."
"Oh God."
Ducky nods. "He's had some rough times dealing with it over the last year."
"And you guys let him get back on that fucking ship?"
"Let?" Ducky says mildly. "Did you somehow miss how he was talking about that test? He wanted to get on that ship. He wanted to go up against his father as an adult and show him that he wasn't going to take it anymore. You saw how pleased he was when he called us. It backfired spectacularly."
Tony rubs his face.
"Sometimes when you go into the dragon's den to face the monster, the dragon wins."
"Like fuck. He is not winning!"
Ducky gives Tony a very tired look. "Anthony, at this point, there are no winning moves, for anyone, left on the board. Every possible version of this ends in more pain for everyone."
"Oh, God, Duck."
"Exactly."
Abbi stretches, feeling very rested, awfully content, and… alone. As she gets more awake it hits her that she's really alone.
"Jethro?"
Nothing. No smell of coffee, no soft clicking sound of Mona's claws on the floor coming up to say Hello.
She checks the clock. It's a bit after ten. About her usual Saturday off wake up time. She sits up, wondering what's going on. Sometimes they'll go out for their run, grab some breakfast, and come back before she's up, but… usually she's up after they're back.
She gets up and pulls on one of his t-shirts, slipping into her own pj bottoms, and heads downstairs. Nothing. No coffee. No hint that anyone is here. She checks Mona's bowls, wanting to see if she's eaten yet, and they're missing.
A quick check of the driveway shows that Jethro's truck is still there, so…
Okay, there's got to be a note somewhere.
Where would he put a note?
Borin heads back upstairs and checks her phone. No note. She looks at her clothing from yesterday. No note. Damn it!
Okay, where else… Usual morning routine. She heads into the bathroom. The first thing she does when she wakes up is hits the head and brushes her teeth, and sitting on her toothbrush is a piece of paper with her name on it.
She unfolds it.
Abbi—
Had to go to California. Tim's alive, hurt. Don't know when I'll get back. Will call when I get a chance.
Love,
Jethro.
She closes her eyes and sighs. He'd been worried about it for the last two weeks and it came true. Shit.
She heads over to her phone and sends him a text. Wake me up before you run off in the middle of the night.
She's done with her morning routine when she gets back. Okay.
Want me to call? Tell me what's up?
Tim's sleeping, text is better.
Okay, what happened?
He got onto that ship and his… The Admiral tried to have him killed. Stuck him in a cell and four guys jumped him. He's alive. In the hospital, broken arm, foot, ribs, nose, something else I'm forgetting. His whole body is one big bruise. But he's alive, and they say he'll heal.
Shit. She knew something was up between the two of them. Knew it had to be more than the version Gibbs had told her, that they didn't get along. The Admiral's an Admiral, and Tim didn't want anything to do with the Navy. But, given what all Jethro's been willing to tell her about Tim's life, the fact that he wouldn't get into the details on this one made her decide not to ask too deeply.
When next they talk, she's going to ask.
Yeah.
But he'll be okay? she asks.
Jimmy says he will. Right now he's sleeping a lot.
Probably the best thing for him. Where are you guys?
Alameda
You want me to come?
You've got work.
She snorts at that and rapidly texts back. Screw work, they owe me three months of vacation time, anyway. You want me there?
There's a two minute long pause, where she sits there staring at the words realizing she not only wrote them but meant them, and she's thinking he's probably feeling something similar seeing that. Then she gets back, and is amazed at how one word can convey so much, Please.
On my way.
Thanks, Abbi.
You're welcome. Wake me up next time.
Didn't think you'd want to come.
She feels slightly irked by that, and then actually understands what that means. Didn't want me to see you that upset?
She can feel his look, and the nod that went with it. He wouldn't be easy with all the emotions of this stuff. He'd been trying to keep it under wraps, badly, for weeks, and now it just blew up.
I'll let you know when I'm in the air.
Okay. I'll be here. Vance doesn't want to let me near the ship.
Wise move on his part.
Why is wise always such a pain in the ass?
Next
Showing posts with label leon vance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leon vance. Show all posts
Friday, September 26, 2014
Shards To A Whole: The Eye of the Storm
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 388: The Eye of the Storm
It's after 01:00 Eastern Standard Time when Leon gets the call. He pulls himself awake, sits up, rubs his eyes, and then checks the name on his phone.
Jarvis.
"Vance."
He listens as Jarvis gets him up to date, nods a few times, and slips out of bed, quietly, hoping not to wake Lara.
"McGee's alive, right?"
"Yes. He's sedated. They're setting his arm, and wrist, and hand, and I think ribs, and then we're on the helio to Alameda. He didn't want his Dad's staff treating him."
Vance nods at that, too. He wouldn't want the guys who work for the guy who tried to kill him operating on him, either. "Okay, start at the beginning, Clayt."
"The test went off without a hitch. Everything was fine. John and Mane, his secretary, had left to go handle the aftermath of the Stennis 'firing' on the Borealis. Tim mentioned to me that he's had some issues with his father and that he had planted a false lead in their conversation. If the men on the Stennis did their job right, they'd trace the attack back to NCIS. But he said to John that if someone showed up to arrest him for espionage, we'd know they'd traced the attack back to him."
Leon gets to his desk and sits down, rubbing his eyes. "But the attack couldn't be traced back to him because he didn't attack from the ship."
"Right. After that test, he went to his quarters to monitor what the techs were doing, how they were responding, what they were doing to try and hunt him down. That's what he told me he was going to do. He also mentioned that he was nervous, doesn't get on with his dad, and was afraid that this would go badly.
"Mane shows up in the afternoon to do the inspection. He's talking, making hints that Tim may be a spy. I tell James that I want him sticking to McGee, and that if someone grabs him, he's to stay with him until he's safely locked in a cell."
"Should have stayed with him in the damn cell."
"I know that, now. Been a while since I ran an 'accident' in a prison and didn't expect them to try it here. This is a US Navy ship, for God's sake! We're supposed to be better than that."
Vance sighs. "Often looks different from my end."
"I know. Anyway, James stayed with him until he was locked in his own cell and Mane had left. Then he went to get me. I was already on my way there, so McGee was only alone for, three minutes, tops, but that was long enough for Mane to come back, unlock the other guys, let them into Tim's cell and go full out on him."
"What did they do to him?"
"You want the diagnosis?"
"Yeah." He hears Jarvis asking about it.
"His right arm's a mess. It was dislocated at the shoulder and wrist, broken in three places, three of his fingers are broken, and his hand is, too. As soon as he hits Alameda, they're gonna have a team of surgeons for that because… Assuming he wants any shot of really using it again, they're going to need specialists working on this. Broken nose, cracked ribs, and his left foot got stomped, bunch of little broken bones in there, too. He's black and blue from head to toe, but doesn't appear to have any damage to his internal organs. He'll live. His brain is still working. They didn't break his neck. His right arm's going to need a lot of PT, and he may never get full use of it again. But, they're saying he'll probably be up and walking again, with a crutch, in a few days."
"Okay, what's happening now?"
"We're in the infirmary. I'm about ten feet away from McGee, watching him get ready to travel. The four he went up against are in here, too, getting patched up. McGee mentioned he does MMA fighting, and that probably saved his life. Never would have guessed he could hurt four guys as badly as he did."
"He held his own?"
"The only one who doesn't have any broken bones is the guy he elbowed in the throat and took out of the fight in the first two seconds with that hit. He hit the rest of them as hard as they hit him."
"Good." Vance hopes they hurt, really, really hurt.
"Each of the attackers has his own MA keeping watch, and they aren't being allowed to speak to each other. Tim mentioned that. Once they get out of here, we'll get them squirreled away where they can't make up some story.
"The Agent Afloat isn't on this ship, she's on the Dewey, but she's getting here as fast as she can. The Admiral's been confined to quarters, and James is running the hunt to find Mane."
"Mane's vanished?"
"Yeah. Obviously, he's on the ship somewhere, but… Big ship."
"Okay. Was John in on it?"
"Not so anyone could ever prove."
"Is that a yes?"
"I'm sure the words, 'go attack my son' or any variation on that theme never crossed his lips. I'm sure no verbal hint of any sort along those lines ever occurred. I also know he was not dismayed about the attack when James told him about it, was not surprised about the attack, and did not ask James what condition Tim was in."
"I see." Leon nods. He knows that the stretch between I'd-approve-if-something-bad-were-to-happen and ordered-a-hit-on-my-son is going to be almost impossible to prove.
He thinks through who he has on the West Coast to send in. This is way more job than one Agent Afloat can handle. Then he thinks further west, because further west is the best option for this case, seeing that DiNozzo is out of the picture because he'll just go right in and kill everyone. "I'll give Agent Burley a call. His team will handle the investigation. How far out of Pearl are you?"
"Eleven days."
Not even remotely close then. "I'll have my guys there as fast as possible, and I'll call the Agent Afloat to let him…" No, Sarah Angua is the AA for the Stennis group. "Her know what's going on. If you can, get that ship back to San Fran."
"I can do that. I haven't called his family."
"I've got it. Let me know when you get moving toward Alameda. I'll have his family waiting for him there."
"Thanks, Leon."
Leon remembers the first time he met John McGee, first and only time. He remembers Gibbs saying that John didn't respect anything Tim was doing.
This is quite a few steps past 'didn't respect.'
He also remembers that John wasn't at Tim's wedding, nor was John ever mentioned by anyone talking to him. Granted, he's not part of the intimate family, but he is a cop, and he was paying attention, and at no point did he ever hear something like, "Gosh, it's a shame John couldn't be here for his only son's wedding."
And one other thought goes through his head. Gibbs killed the man who killed his girl. What on earth would he do with the man who hurt his son?
The frustrating part of this… One of them anyway, is that Vance is certain that Admiral McGee has made sure that a case cannot be made linking him to this attack.
He is absolutely certain that Admiral McGee never said that he wanted this to happen to Tim. He never suggested that such a thing would please him. He wouldn't have to. A secretary who's that good at his job knows his Boss inside and out; he'd never need the order. (Just like Vance's secretary wouldn't need instructions for something along those lines, either. The major difference is, Karen wouldn't kill a man for him.)
If Mane is the kind of man who would do that to McGee, then he's also the kind of man who will fall on a grenade to protect his Boss. He'll take the rap for this. He'll claim it was all on him.
Which means they'll have to break him, break him so bad he lies.
And that's going to be difficult. Maybe impossible.
But one way or another, Admiral McGee is going to pay for this. Because there was only one way Mane would have pulled this crap, and that's because he knew the Admiral would approve.
Vance is a good Boss; he's a very good administrator. He's good at finding talent and letting that talent do its job without him interfering.
The problem with that technique is that he's not as up to date with the seconds-thirds-and-fourths in command of his different teams as a micro manager would be.
He has a plan, he knows what he is going to do. What he doesn't know is who he needs to execute part of that plan. Normally, should a plan like this need to be executed, he'd call in McGee, and obviously that won't work.
At two in the morning, on the road to the Navy Yard, he's about to make a call to Abby, and then decides against it. While it's true that she's the person most likely to know who Tim's most trusted second-in-command is, it's also likely that if he calls her in the middle of the night looking for a tech, she will flip out. So, he is not calling Abby, instead he's making a call to Dr. Palmer, the man most likely to know what he needs to know.
"Nrgh." Sound of Jimmy rubbing his eyes. "I'm awake, Palmer here. What's going on?"
"Doctor Palmer. I have a question for you."
"Director?" Jimmy sounds surprised to hear Vance on the phone.
"Yes. I know McGee relies heavily on Ngyn and Howard, which one of the two of them is better with a secret?"
"Sir?"
"Ngyn or Howard, Dr. Palmer?"
"Why aren't you asking Tim?"
"Because the Stennis is under radio silence right now, as part of making sure that McGee's test doesn't get out." That's a complete lie, but one he doesn't mind. He doesn't need handling Palmer on top of Gibbs right now.
Jimmy thinks for a moment. "He tells us about how good Howard is all the time. I don't know if she can keep a secret. Ngyn's one of his wunderkinds, too. He likes both of them, trusts both of them. Ngyn's more likely to be in the office right now. Oh, and she's really shy, so she probably wouldn't enjoy blabbing about something."
"Thank you, Dr. Palmer." He hangs up before Jimmy can get enough brain cells together to wonder why Vance would be asking that in the middle of the night.
He doesn't have Ngyn or Howard on his personal phone. He does have McGee's desk. So he tries that. After four rings, "Cybercrime, McGee's desk."
"Who am I speaking to?"
"Sturm. Who is this?"
"Director Vance. Is Howard or Ngyn down there?"
"Yes, sir." A quiet moment passes. "Ngyn here."
"Ngyn, this is Director Vance, can you meet me in the evidence lock up in twenty-five minutes?"
"Uh… Sure…"
"Good. See you then."
Vance remembers one other thing as he walks toward the Navy Yard, another early morning, one very much like this, when he walked in through the bullpen and found McGee working on David's computer.
He remembers being told that McGee was making sure everything was nice and secure.
He remembers a few months later, when David walked into his office, handed him a bloody knife, and said, "For your wife."
She left, and he never asked. He didn't have to.
He knows that Gibbs' whole team handled the wet work.
He's sure McGee's the one who did the actual tracking.
And he knows, absolutely, that he owes McGee, all of them really, but right now he can repay one of them.
And he will.
The frustrating thing is that, even with Burley on it, and Vance knows Burley will hold this case and work it until he's out of case to work, is that John's secretary will fall on a grenade for him. And that the one thing they'll never know is if he was specifically ordered to make the call, or if John expressed displeasure and his secretary handled it, knowing, without being told, what his Boss wanted.
He thinks the play that Clayt is thinking of works like this. Once John no longer has the President's protection, Clayton will make a fuss, a private fuss, to John, one that will make it exceptionally clear that he will blast John's career and destroy his reputation if he does not step down immediately.
He doesn't know John McGee, but you don't get to be an Admiral unless you live and die for the Navy, so the embarrassment factor on having his name dragged through the mud, shaky case or not, should provide enough traction to get John out of his stars.
Leon thinks about that for a few minutes.
Then he thinks about what would have happened to McGee if Clayton hadn't gotten suspicious and decided to keep eyes on him.
Resigning is not good enough. It's a start. It has to happen because being forced to resign will, if John McGee is even half of the man he thinks he is, hurt like an amputation. But it's not nearly enough.
And he's got an idea of where enough begins.
Vance knows, on an intellectual level, that McGee'd revoked the dress code. But it'd been a while since he's been down in Cybercrime, so he was rather surprised to see this… girl… woman… he looks closer, she's a real adult, just small and dressing young, in jeans, a t-shirt, and oversized Converse All-Stars standing in front of the evidence lock up looking nervous.
"Director!"
He walks through the lock up, keying in his numbers, and goes to the back where the weapons they have confiscated are kept until they are destroyed. It takes him a moment, but he finds what he is looking for.
HTR 2000. Sniper rifle. Wanna-be Marine sniper who decided to show the world what he could do. Case pre-dates Vance as Director. Scheduled for destruction in three weeks. The last appeal had been exhausted in March. This gun is done.
For what he needs, it'll do.
"Agent Ngyn, I want everything regarding this gun destroyed. All records of ballistics, every case it was involved in, the fact that this gun ever existed needs to vanish."
"Sir?"
"Everything. Dr. Palmer tells me McGee thinks highly of your skills. I need this gun to vanish. I need the fact that you and I met down here, that I'm taking this gun out of here, all of it needs to evaporate. Can you do this?"
She's staring at him, very wide-eyed. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Up you go to my office. Use my computer." He quickly writes down his passwords. "Take care of it."
"Yes, sir. Sir?"
"Ngyn?"
"Why is Doctor Palmer recommending me on McGee's behalf? McGee's okay, right?"
"Yes, Ngyn." He smiles kindly. "He's fine. You know 'he's at a conference?'"
"Yes?"
"He's war gaming. Top secret. Right now, he and everyone on his ship is locked down for radio silence."
"Oh."
"Got an undercover op that just went hot and needs a clean gun, normally he does things like that, so I had to find out who he'd send in if he couldn't do it for me himself, and I figured that if anyone would know, it's Palmer."
"Huh. Okay. I'll get on it."
"Thank you."
It's slightly before 03:00 eastern time when Vance, with a rifle, opens Gibbs' door.
He almost breaks his nose when the door doesn't actually open as he steps forward.
So he knocks, wondering when on earth Gibbs got a lock and why.
Less than a minute later the dog, who's name he couldn't remember, had bounded down the steps and is barking vigorously at him. Suddenly the lock makes a lot of sense. He's awfully glad he didn't just walk into that. Three minutes later a sleepy, disheveled, and upside down looking Jethro ambles down the steps in a pair of shorts and Marines T-shirt.
Barking.
Gibbs sits up, rubbing his eyes. One shift from working Gibbs to retired Gibbs is that he actually sleeps when he sleeps now. Before some little part of his mind was always a few degrees awake, ready to leap into action.
He hears another knock on his door. Great.
Abbi rolls over, looking at him, little bit of curious in her eyes. He waves it off. "Go back to sleep. Probably Fornell. He crashes here when he's got a case he doesn't want to take home."
She nods, looking mostly asleep too, and he gets up slowly, heads to his dresser, finds some shorts and a t-shirt and, still pulling the shirt over his head, wanders down the steps.
"Mona, hush up."
One last bark, and she bounds up the steps to him, thumping on down with him as he goes to the door.
Through the leaded glass in his door, he can't see who's there, but with each step, he's feeling a little more awake, and as sleep clears from his mind, that little voice that's always been able to sense danger starts to scream.
For a second, he can't place it, there's just a sense of blind panic.
Then he opens the door and sees Leon standing there, holding a rifle case.
Gibbs feels his knees go week. One second he's standing up, the next he's on the ground. Leon kneeling next to him, case forgotten for a second. It takes a good thirty seconds before he can pull his voice together enough to ask, "When did it happen?"
"Oh." And Vance, who is fully in revenge and justice mode, snaps out of that, realizing how bad this would look to Jethro. "No. No. Jethro. No. He's alive. Tim'll be fine, eventually."
From there, everything goes cold. He stands up slowly, taking the rifle case into his living room. "What happened?"
Vance explains, and then he explains some more, and then he pats the case. "And if we can't get a case against him, there's this."
Gibbs nods slowly, and he opens the case, looks at the contents, nods, and heads up the stairs.
While he does that, Vance calls Karen. She's less than thrilled to be woken up at 03:45 with a request to get the Lear Jet up and running and ready to go to Alameda, but she doesn't ask questions. She knows if he's asking for the fastest transport the Navy has for civilians in the middle of the night, it's important.
"When will you be back in the office?"
"Tomorrow, I hope."
He calls Lara, telling her what's going on, why he's not in bed, why he's not going to be home for a while, hopefully tonight, but probably late. She understands.
By the time he's done, Gibbs is down, he's got a duffle packed. It's not very full. He stuffs the rifle case into it, too. Now it's full. He takes a moment and gets a second bag packed, stuffing two bowls, dog food, and some rawhide chews into it.
"Abby next, right?" Leon asks.
Gibbs nods. Then Palmers', someone has to take Kelly and Mona in.
This wasn't supposed to happen. That was the whole point of Cybercrime! Gibbs and Vance weren't supposed to be in her home at 04:23 with bad news. He could have stayed a cop if this…
She's barely awake, pregnancy tired clinging to her, trying to drag her back to warm dreams where everything is fine, battling the surge of adrenaline that goes with waking up, finding Gibbs in her room, Vance hovering at the door to her bedroom, looking ready to kill someone.
She's crying, sobbing, before she can even put together what's going on, really.
But she knows, in her gut, she feels it. They wouldn't be here if everything was all right.
Gibbs has got his arms around her, rocking her, gently, saying… something, but she can't get the words, she's too trapped in tired/pain/hormones/terror bawling.
"Abbs… Come on baby, pull out of it. Abby… he's alive." Gibbs has said that about three times now, but it's not breaking through the immediate horror of him at her door in the middle of the night, Leon behind him. "Come on, Abbs, you've got to pull it together, hear what I'm saying, baby, he's alive. He's alive, and we've got a jet waiting for us so we can get to him. We've got to get Kelly all packed up and over to Jimmy and Breena so we can get to him. Come on…"
Eventually 'he's alive' filters through. It'd be almost comical the way she jerks when it finally hits, but this is real, and someone you care about's abject, soul-deep horror isn't funny.
She sniffs, wipes her nose. "Alive?"
"Yeah, Abbs, he's alive. He's hurt. But he's alive. And we've got to get to him."
She nods and begins to get up out of bed, grabbing her robe. "I'll get dressed. Can you…" her voice is rough, and it cracks, but she keeps talking, "get a bag packed for Kelly."
"Yeah. Want me to call Breena, too, let her know she's got some visitors coming soon?"
"Yeah. That's… Yeah. He's alive?" There's desperate terror in her voice, and Gibbs suddenly gets that the last time someone showed up in the middle of the night at her home and told her someone was alive but hurt, it was her parents, and her mom was already dead, and her father only had hours left.
Gibbs nods, holding her tight, kissing her forehead. "He's alive. Vance says that as of 04:10 he was stable to travel and they were med-evacing him to Alameda."
"How badly hurt?"
"Vance has more details than I do. Get dressed, get packed, stuff for Tim, pajamas and clean clothes, and he can fill you in when we go to Jimmy and Breena's."
That gets her moving. Every minute talking is a minute they aren't getting closer to Tim.
The second time a phone rings in the middle of the night, Jimmy's awake, and scared. It's Breena's phone, but she's still pretty groggy, so he grabs it.
"No bullshit this time, what happened?"
Gibbs wasn't expecting that, but he answers, "Tim's hurt, we're going to California, can Mona and Kelly stay with you? Don't know how long it'll be."
"Hurt? Hurt how?"
"John had his men try to beat him to death."
Jimmy goes cold at that. "Fuck. Okay, no more talking to me. I'll pick up the details when we're on the plane. Get the girls here as fast as you can."
"Thanks Jimmy. Vance has more details than I do, he'll call when we're in the air."
"Okay." He hangs up.
"Was that my phone?" Breena blinks a few times and sees that Jimmy's so pissed he's shaking. "What happened?"
He's jumped up and is packing a bag. "Can you take a few days on your own with an extra kid and Mona?"
"Jimmy, you're scaring me."
"Tim got on that fucking ship, and his dad tried to have him killed. All I know right now is that he's alive and Gibbs and Abby and Vance are heading to California, and if you can handle the kids, I'm going with them."
"Okay. Mona and Kelly are coming here?"
"Yes."
"I will handle it. Ducky and Penny'll help."
"Yeah, they will."
Breena gets up, and wraps Jimmy in a hug. "Okay, you get a shower, and eat. You've just packed nine pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, two left shoes, no shirts, and no underwear. I'll get you set to go. You get calmed down because Abby's going to need calm people around her, got it?"
Jimmy swallows, takes a very deep breath, lets it out, shakily, and nods. "I've got it."
She kisses him, holding onto him, tight.
"I don't even know how hurt he is." Jimmy's somewhere between rage and about to cry. "It's got to be bad because he's not talking to us, though."
She nods, holding him close, cradling the back of his head, kissing him. "We'll find out, and you'll get there, and you'll be his doctor, making sure they treat him right and he comes home to us."
"Yeah." He wipes his eyes, takes another deep breath, and heads for the shower.
It's a quiet handover. Kelly sleeps through the whole thing, and no one is surprised to see Jimmy's up, packed, and ready to go. Mona's confused because she doesn't see Molly, and visits to this house always involve Molly, so there's some barking, but Breena swings into Bad Ass Mommy Mode (which is identical to Alpha Bitch mode) and has her calmed down and toeing the line in a matter of seconds.
She kisses and hugs Jimmy and Abby as they head off. "You bring our boy back."
They both nod, ready to go.
"I'll call Ducky and Tony when it's really morning. Let me know how he is as soon as you do."
More nodding, more hugs, more kisses, and they go.
Tim wakes in a panic, everything hurts, there's this weird whupping noise, and he has no idea where he is, how he got there, or why. On top of that, he finds he can't move.
Fortunately, before he gets the chance to even start yelling a face hovers into view, one he doesn't know.
"He's awake, sir."
Jarvis comes into view.
"You didn't want to stay on your dad's ship, so as soon as you were stable enough to move they got you on a medevac flight. We're en route to Alameda."
"Okay." That helps with some of the panic, and the whupping noise suddenly makes sense, he's got to be on a chopper.
The first face, probably some sort of medic comes back into view. "Are you in pain?"
"What the fuck do you think? I'm enjoying this?" Tim's eyes go wide as that comes out. He'd been thinking it, but apparently the pain meds he's already on have shot the filter between his brain and mouth to shit.
"Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"
"Eight? I'm conscious, and I don't want to be."
"Okay. More pain medication coming up."
He can half-see out of his peripheral vision someone else messing with his IV. Then the medic comes back into view. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Sort of." He remembers fighting. He hurts all over, so he's got to be hurt bad. But he doesn't know how hurt he is.
Seems like Jarvis got that. "You remember the fight?"
"Images. Details are fuzzy."
"Do you remember after?"
"Not really." The image of his arm sprang to mind. "Oh God…" Fortunately the Medic is with it enough to figure out what that cue meant and gets the backboard he's strapped to tipped to the side, before he started to retch. No food in his system so it's just dry heaves. "My arm!" Tim manages to gasp when he stops retching. He remembers how it looked when the fight was over, but he's strapped down so he can't see it now, and he can't feel it, either.
"All bandaged up for travel. There's a team of orthopedic surgeons who are waiting for you in Alameda. The Stennis has a combat ready medical suite, and they say you should get full use of it back when it's healed up," Jarvis says.
"Can't feel it." There's a lot of panic in his voice as he says, "Everything hurts, but I can't feel my arm."
"You're on pain medication for your whole body, and a nerve block on your arm. You can't feel or move it." The Medic replies. That calms Tim down, he can't see his arm, but apparently it's still attached to him. "They assessed you in the infirmary. You have a concussion, a broken nose, chipped tooth, broken arm, and broken foot."
He'd nod if he could, but he can't. "Neck damage?"
"No, but we're not taking any chances for the trip. Your neck is braced and you're on a backboard. Once you get out of surgery you'll be able to move you head and neck again."
"Okay."
The Medic says a few other things, but by that point the pain medication is kicking back in again, and Tim checks out.
A Lear jet is the fastest transport NCIS has to offer for four people traveling together. There are lots of nifty goodies on board, the flight crew is beyond obsequious. On any other occasion, this would be a lovely trip.
But it's not, because anything other than Star-Trek style transporters is too damn slow. (And honestly, even if they could be beamed to California, it'd still be too slow.)
Gibbs is sitting next to Abby, keeping an arm around her. Right now she's praying, and from the looks of it, Gibbs is, too.
Jimmy's got Tim's medical records up on his computer. The rough version they filled out aboard the Stennis. He finishes reading, carefully shuts his computer, stands up, and kicks his seat, hard, three times.
Gibbs, Abby, and Vance stare at him as he does it. When he gets done he rubs his eyes, then stalks over to the bar, finds the strongest alcohol they've got (Vodka) pours three shots of it, and hands one to Gibbs, one to Vance, and shoots his back.
He picks up his computer, sits next to Abby, and says. "I'd have poured one for you, but I figured you wouldn't want it." She nods, face a mask of fear. Vance looks curious about that, but no one says anything, so he puts two and two together and decides Abby's pregnant again.
Jimmy opens his computer and begins to go over the details with them.
They're racing the sunrise, and winning. Perpetual dark of near dawn envelops the jet as it continues westward.
It's a bit after 06:00, by Vance's watch (Eastern time, he's not sure what local time is, or for that matter where they are) when they get confirmation that Tim's in Alameda, in surgery, and that they're in the process of putting his arm back together.
He gets up and asks the pilot how far out they are, and he says they're about an hour from starting the descent.
His mouth tastes really bad. That's the first thing that hits Tim as he starts to inch toward awake. His mouth tastes bad and is really, excruciatingly, dry.
He wants a drink.
A lot of drinks.
Hurting. That comes up next. Not as bad as last time, but everything, including his right arm, aches. Must be out of surgery.
There's a weird tugging sensation on his hair, and that finally gets him to open his eyes.
"Oh, you're awake. Hi. I'm Amelia Clark, one of the post-op nurses," says a woman in scrubs who's hovering over him.
"Water."
"Not yet. You'll just throw it up. I can give you a damp sponge to suck on."
"Okay." That weird sensation is in his hair, and he hears clicking. Tim gingerly turns his head. Oh. I'm being processed.
Jarvis is standing in the corner of the room. There are two other people, in scrubs, so nurses maybe. One of them is taking pictures of him. He still can't see most of himself, but the photographer is getting shots of his left foot and leg, which are awfully black and blue.
He thinks the medic on the trip said something about a broken foot. "Is that the broken foot?"
"Yes." The nurse who is photographing him replies. "Amelia has a walking cast we're going to get you set for in a moment. Just have to get the shots."
He nods, and then feels more tugging on his hair. "There's DNA from three of four of them on my clothing. Have you scraped my nails?"
"Yes." The nurse who is combing through his hair answers.
"Are they in custody?" Tim asks Jarvis.
"Everyone but Mane. The four you were fighting are all being kept apart from each other."
"Good."
"Vance is calling in Agent Burley to handle the case. Do you know him?"
Tim's a bit surprised and dismayed that it's not Tony handling the case, but he knows Stan, he'll do a good job.
"Yeah, I do. He's a good guy. Gibbs' first Probie."
Jarvis doesn't seem to know what that means, and Tim isn't feeling like explaining.
The nurse who is combing out his hair glances to Jarvis, and then says quietly, "Do you need a rape kit?"
"No." He wonders exactly how badly thrashed he looks if she'd ask that, and then it hits him that his leg is bare, he tries to touch his leg, see if he's got his shorts on, but comes to the conclusion that's not going to happen. His right arm isn't going anywhere, and the IV is in his left. He can't tell, but he's guessing he's naked under the sheets, and may have come in that way.
The photographer nurse steps to the side, lifting the blanket off of his other leg, taking photos. Apparently that leg's all bruised up, but nothing's broken. Amelia, the only one he's got a name for, carefully eases a cast under his right foot and ankle and begins to strap him into it.
"You'll get written instructions, too, but you can get this wet and walk on it. In six weeks, when you're home, they'll re-xray make sure everything is properly healed, and if it is, you'll be out of this." She then tucks his leg under the blanket as the photographer finishes with his leg.
He knows what comes next, but Amelia's glancing at Jarvis, silently asking if he wants Jarvis out of the room. "He can stay. Just take the blanket off and do them all at once, okay?"
The photographer strips him down, and begins shooting. He's bruised all over, and it does look like at least one of them got him in the balls. (Good thing there's no food in his stomach, just seeing the swelling and bruising is making him nauseous again.) That might also explain part of why the nurse wondered if he needed a rape kit.
(It's also making him wonder how much pain medication he's on. Everything right now aches, but… Well, he's taken a shot to the balls before, a much less severe one, and that hurt about ten times more than he does now.)
He can't see much of his chest, it's wrapped in tight bandages. But Amelia notices him looking. "Three cracked ribs. They were already wrapped when you got here, and we're not unwrapping you. Open your mouth."
She pops something that looks like a lollipop in his mouth. It's wet, which is good, and god-awful sour. He'd spit it out if it wasn't for the fact that his mouth is so damn dry.
She nods, apparently that's a common reaction to whatever this thing is.
"Keeps you from trying to swallow the liquid. Looks like Barb is done with the photos." She begins to pull the blanket back over him.
"Back, gotta get my back."
"Can't. Your arm is in traction for the next two days."
Right, the arm. He finally turns his head to look at it and… He can't really see it. There's this wodge of bandages, and some sort of pulley system attached to the tips of his fingers, and a black vinyl thing that looks a bit like his walking cast for his leg, and some other soft foam thing keeping his arm elevated, and another strap across his chest so that it can't flop around and…
"Am I ever going to move it again?"
The nurse waves that away. "Of course. Hon, you're in a trauma ward for the US Navy. Please, that's barely a flesh wound by our standards. Last week we put an arm that was clean torn off back on a Sargent. You're gonna be fine."
That's reassuring.
"We're pretty much all done here. How about you get a nap, and when you wake up, your family'll be here."
That also takes him by surprise, somehow the idea that they'd be on the way didn't hit him.
"Vance tells me they landed a few minutes ago. Still have an hour's drive to get here, but they'll be here soon," Jarvis say.
Tim nods slightly, closes his eyes, and finds that falling asleep, even aching from head to toes, isn't that tricky when you've got this much pain medication in your system.
It's a long hallway. A really long hallway. They come in from one end and find Jarvis, he leads them toward Tim, at the other end.
Solid door, they can't see in, and it's closed, so they don't know what's on the other side.
Abby hugs Gibbs and Jimmy, and then says, "I'll… I need to… Alone."
"Okay. We'll wait, right out here," Jimmy says. Gibbs just gives her another hug.
Her first thought upon entering the room, stupid, silly thought, she sat next to Jimmy as he read the different files, she knew, intellectually, how bad he was, but it didn't stop her from almost turning right around, walking out and saying, "This is the wrong room. That's not Tim."
His face is so battered and swollen and bruised, she couldn't have identified him by looking at it.
They cut his shirt off and didn't put a gown over him, so she can see the tattoo on his delt, marred, swollen, black ink merging into black, red, blue, purple bruises, and knows it has to be him.
She makes herself look, makes herself see, analyze, and plan, because she cannot just throw herself on the bed, weeping, wrapping around him.
His face is black, some spots are purple or green, one tiny patch along his right ear is still skin-colored. There's a brace on his nose. His lips are split, swollen, bruised.
There are choke marks on his throat. His collarbones are black and blue, both shoulders covered in greenish-yellow-purple. Upper chest doesn't look too bad, comparatively. Little patches of skin colored skin. Middle and lower chest are wrapped up tight in some sort of bandage.
His left hand is black-purple-green, knuckles bandaged. Left elbow in similar shape. There's an IV leading to the back of his left hand, which she's praying is sending powerful pain medication into him.
His right hand and wrist are in traction, his right shoulder is propped up, and strapped to the bed to keep it immobile. There's some sort of black vinyl thing, a cast of some sort, covering from his armpit to mid-forearm, and another device cradling his wrist. Each finger is braced, and wrapped in bandages, with a web of lines pulling on his hand, keeping the tension on it.
She can feel the tears pouring down her face. She can't hold him. She can't lie down next to him, rest her head on his chest and just soak up him being alive. She's crying, trying to be quiet, because she doesn't want to wake him up, though she's fairly sure they drugged him enough that he won't wake for anything short of the Apocalypse.
Abby spends a few minutes sitting there, next to him, fingers on his left wrist, stroking very gently over unbruised skin. For a moment she wonders where the cuff went. He's got his wedding ring, but beyond that appears to be naked under the blankets.
Her fingers find his pulse, feeling it, strong and steady. She spends a few moments thanking God that he's still alive.
There's another spot on his left shoulder, about the size of her palm. She lays a kiss to that little patch of un-hurt Tim, about to get up and let Jimmy and Gibbs in, and hears, voice very rough, "I must look like complete shit if you won't kiss my lips."
She snaps up, hand reaching to touch his cheek and then pulling back.
He sees her face, no makeup, red and puffy from tears. Sees her almost touch, but not quite.
She swallows hard. "I didn't think you'd wake up."
"Not sure if I am. I'm half-sure this is a dream."
She kisses his leg again. "I'm here. Jimmy and Gibbs and Vance are outside. Once you can travel, we're going to take you home."
"Today?"
She shakes her head. "No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"What's the day after that?"
"Monday. Maybe. We just got here, haven't gotten to talk to anyone, yet. Whenever they can unhook your arm, then you get to go home."
"Okay. Why are you kissing my shoulder?"
She wipes away her tears and tries to smile. "No bruises. I couldn't stand to do anything that might hurt you more."
His tongue slips over his lip, mapping the splits and the puffy, swollen flesh around them. She leans in and kisses the tip of his tongue.
"Do you have a mirror?"
She does but she says, "No," anyway. He doesn't need to see his face today.
He knows that she has a compact that lives in her purse and has a mirror on it, so she's lying to him. "Is it really that bad?"
She nods, more tears in her eyes.
"Okay. I don't need to see."
"Not until the swelling goes down some."
"Okay."
She kisses that bit of arm again. "I love you, Tim. Love you so much."
"Even ugly?" He tries to smile and that hurts, too, he can feel the skin of his lip separating again, so he stops.
"Tim!" She sniffles.
"I told you I'd fight to the last breath to come home to you."
"You did." Another sniff. "I love you so much, so much. Gibbs and Vance came at four in the morning and…" She's crying again.
"I'm alive, baby." His left arm seems free, so he very tentatively reaches up to stroke her face. That hurts bad. He doesn't know what's wrong with that arm, but it's not happy. However, her cheek in his palm, lips kissing him matters more than the hurt. He tries a very small smile. "I'm alive."
"I know. I do. Now." She wipes her eyes again. "Jimmy and Gibbs are going to want to see you. You want them to come in?"
"Little bit, feeling tired again."
"Okay, little bit, then you sleep some more."
They're waiting right outside the door, but by the time Gibbs and Jimmy get into Tim's room, he's asleep again.
Gibbs looks at Tim, lying there, just… broken.
He very gently ruffles his hair, kisses the top of his head, sees Tim wince in his sleep, and pulls his hand back.
He looks over at Abby, realizes that the little bit of his shoulder that she's touching has to be the only part that's not hurt and swallows hard, staring at the ceiling. He blinks once, twice, and once more, forcing himself under control. He can't break down, not in front of Abby, not until he's on his own.
So, if he can't fall into a mess, he can get mad.
He kisses the top of Abby's head, squeezes her shoulders, and heads into the hallway, where Vance is, again.
Vance didn't go in. This is a quiet, intimate, family moment, and he's not going to crash it. At the same time, though, he did look in and felt every ounce of blood in his body boil as he looks at McGee.
Vance is a cop. He's been at NCIS thirty-five years. He has seen literally thousands of dead people, and a whole lot of them looked way better than Tim McGee does right now.
Gibbs comes out a few seconds later. "I want on that ship."
"No."
He's giving Leon the help me or get out of my way look. "Leon."
"No. Agent Burley is heading there, with his team. The ship is heading back to port, and when they land, you can talk to him, but you will not get within sight of Admiral McGee. We will handle this properly until we cannot handle it properly anymore." There's so much ice in Vance's voice that it gets through to Jethro. He actually listens.
"Jethro, what do you know about John McGee?"
There are a lot of things he could say, but most of them are private, for Tim and the family and that's it, so he says, "He's the man who didn't call to see if his son was alive or dead after the Deering bombing."
Vance nods. He hadn't known that, but isn't surprised.
"Here's what I know about you: if I let you on that ship, you'll kill him. Here's what I know about me: Dying by your hands will not be nearly as slow or painful as what I want to happen to him will be. Here's what I know about him: He loves his rank, his ship, and his job, more than anything on earth, so we will rob him of it. Hell is whatever hurts worst, Jethro, and we will make him hurt. That rifle I gave you, use it, after he's been stripped of his rank and dishonorably discharged."
And Gibbs has to admit, that's something he can wait for.
Next
Chapter 388: The Eye of the Storm
It's after 01:00 Eastern Standard Time when Leon gets the call. He pulls himself awake, sits up, rubs his eyes, and then checks the name on his phone.
Jarvis.
"Vance."
He listens as Jarvis gets him up to date, nods a few times, and slips out of bed, quietly, hoping not to wake Lara.
"McGee's alive, right?"
"Yes. He's sedated. They're setting his arm, and wrist, and hand, and I think ribs, and then we're on the helio to Alameda. He didn't want his Dad's staff treating him."
Vance nods at that, too. He wouldn't want the guys who work for the guy who tried to kill him operating on him, either. "Okay, start at the beginning, Clayt."
"The test went off without a hitch. Everything was fine. John and Mane, his secretary, had left to go handle the aftermath of the Stennis 'firing' on the Borealis. Tim mentioned to me that he's had some issues with his father and that he had planted a false lead in their conversation. If the men on the Stennis did their job right, they'd trace the attack back to NCIS. But he said to John that if someone showed up to arrest him for espionage, we'd know they'd traced the attack back to him."
Leon gets to his desk and sits down, rubbing his eyes. "But the attack couldn't be traced back to him because he didn't attack from the ship."
"Right. After that test, he went to his quarters to monitor what the techs were doing, how they were responding, what they were doing to try and hunt him down. That's what he told me he was going to do. He also mentioned that he was nervous, doesn't get on with his dad, and was afraid that this would go badly.
"Mane shows up in the afternoon to do the inspection. He's talking, making hints that Tim may be a spy. I tell James that I want him sticking to McGee, and that if someone grabs him, he's to stay with him until he's safely locked in a cell."
"Should have stayed with him in the damn cell."
"I know that, now. Been a while since I ran an 'accident' in a prison and didn't expect them to try it here. This is a US Navy ship, for God's sake! We're supposed to be better than that."
Vance sighs. "Often looks different from my end."
"I know. Anyway, James stayed with him until he was locked in his own cell and Mane had left. Then he went to get me. I was already on my way there, so McGee was only alone for, three minutes, tops, but that was long enough for Mane to come back, unlock the other guys, let them into Tim's cell and go full out on him."
"What did they do to him?"
"You want the diagnosis?"
"Yeah." He hears Jarvis asking about it.
"His right arm's a mess. It was dislocated at the shoulder and wrist, broken in three places, three of his fingers are broken, and his hand is, too. As soon as he hits Alameda, they're gonna have a team of surgeons for that because… Assuming he wants any shot of really using it again, they're going to need specialists working on this. Broken nose, cracked ribs, and his left foot got stomped, bunch of little broken bones in there, too. He's black and blue from head to toe, but doesn't appear to have any damage to his internal organs. He'll live. His brain is still working. They didn't break his neck. His right arm's going to need a lot of PT, and he may never get full use of it again. But, they're saying he'll probably be up and walking again, with a crutch, in a few days."
"Okay, what's happening now?"
"We're in the infirmary. I'm about ten feet away from McGee, watching him get ready to travel. The four he went up against are in here, too, getting patched up. McGee mentioned he does MMA fighting, and that probably saved his life. Never would have guessed he could hurt four guys as badly as he did."
"He held his own?"
"The only one who doesn't have any broken bones is the guy he elbowed in the throat and took out of the fight in the first two seconds with that hit. He hit the rest of them as hard as they hit him."
"Good." Vance hopes they hurt, really, really hurt.
"Each of the attackers has his own MA keeping watch, and they aren't being allowed to speak to each other. Tim mentioned that. Once they get out of here, we'll get them squirreled away where they can't make up some story.
"The Agent Afloat isn't on this ship, she's on the Dewey, but she's getting here as fast as she can. The Admiral's been confined to quarters, and James is running the hunt to find Mane."
"Mane's vanished?"
"Yeah. Obviously, he's on the ship somewhere, but… Big ship."
"Okay. Was John in on it?"
"Not so anyone could ever prove."
"Is that a yes?"
"I'm sure the words, 'go attack my son' or any variation on that theme never crossed his lips. I'm sure no verbal hint of any sort along those lines ever occurred. I also know he was not dismayed about the attack when James told him about it, was not surprised about the attack, and did not ask James what condition Tim was in."
"I see." Leon nods. He knows that the stretch between I'd-approve-if-something-bad-were-to-happen and ordered-a-hit-on-my-son is going to be almost impossible to prove.
He thinks through who he has on the West Coast to send in. This is way more job than one Agent Afloat can handle. Then he thinks further west, because further west is the best option for this case, seeing that DiNozzo is out of the picture because he'll just go right in and kill everyone. "I'll give Agent Burley a call. His team will handle the investigation. How far out of Pearl are you?"
"Eleven days."
Not even remotely close then. "I'll have my guys there as fast as possible, and I'll call the Agent Afloat to let him…" No, Sarah Angua is the AA for the Stennis group. "Her know what's going on. If you can, get that ship back to San Fran."
"I can do that. I haven't called his family."
"I've got it. Let me know when you get moving toward Alameda. I'll have his family waiting for him there."
"Thanks, Leon."
Leon remembers the first time he met John McGee, first and only time. He remembers Gibbs saying that John didn't respect anything Tim was doing.
This is quite a few steps past 'didn't respect.'
He also remembers that John wasn't at Tim's wedding, nor was John ever mentioned by anyone talking to him. Granted, he's not part of the intimate family, but he is a cop, and he was paying attention, and at no point did he ever hear something like, "Gosh, it's a shame John couldn't be here for his only son's wedding."
And one other thought goes through his head. Gibbs killed the man who killed his girl. What on earth would he do with the man who hurt his son?
The frustrating part of this… One of them anyway, is that Vance is certain that Admiral McGee has made sure that a case cannot be made linking him to this attack.
He is absolutely certain that Admiral McGee never said that he wanted this to happen to Tim. He never suggested that such a thing would please him. He wouldn't have to. A secretary who's that good at his job knows his Boss inside and out; he'd never need the order. (Just like Vance's secretary wouldn't need instructions for something along those lines, either. The major difference is, Karen wouldn't kill a man for him.)
If Mane is the kind of man who would do that to McGee, then he's also the kind of man who will fall on a grenade to protect his Boss. He'll take the rap for this. He'll claim it was all on him.
Which means they'll have to break him, break him so bad he lies.
And that's going to be difficult. Maybe impossible.
But one way or another, Admiral McGee is going to pay for this. Because there was only one way Mane would have pulled this crap, and that's because he knew the Admiral would approve.
Vance is a good Boss; he's a very good administrator. He's good at finding talent and letting that talent do its job without him interfering.
The problem with that technique is that he's not as up to date with the seconds-thirds-and-fourths in command of his different teams as a micro manager would be.
He has a plan, he knows what he is going to do. What he doesn't know is who he needs to execute part of that plan. Normally, should a plan like this need to be executed, he'd call in McGee, and obviously that won't work.
At two in the morning, on the road to the Navy Yard, he's about to make a call to Abby, and then decides against it. While it's true that she's the person most likely to know who Tim's most trusted second-in-command is, it's also likely that if he calls her in the middle of the night looking for a tech, she will flip out. So, he is not calling Abby, instead he's making a call to Dr. Palmer, the man most likely to know what he needs to know.
"Nrgh." Sound of Jimmy rubbing his eyes. "I'm awake, Palmer here. What's going on?"
"Doctor Palmer. I have a question for you."
"Director?" Jimmy sounds surprised to hear Vance on the phone.
"Yes. I know McGee relies heavily on Ngyn and Howard, which one of the two of them is better with a secret?"
"Sir?"
"Ngyn or Howard, Dr. Palmer?"
"Why aren't you asking Tim?"
"Because the Stennis is under radio silence right now, as part of making sure that McGee's test doesn't get out." That's a complete lie, but one he doesn't mind. He doesn't need handling Palmer on top of Gibbs right now.
Jimmy thinks for a moment. "He tells us about how good Howard is all the time. I don't know if she can keep a secret. Ngyn's one of his wunderkinds, too. He likes both of them, trusts both of them. Ngyn's more likely to be in the office right now. Oh, and she's really shy, so she probably wouldn't enjoy blabbing about something."
"Thank you, Dr. Palmer." He hangs up before Jimmy can get enough brain cells together to wonder why Vance would be asking that in the middle of the night.
He doesn't have Ngyn or Howard on his personal phone. He does have McGee's desk. So he tries that. After four rings, "Cybercrime, McGee's desk."
"Who am I speaking to?"
"Sturm. Who is this?"
"Director Vance. Is Howard or Ngyn down there?"
"Yes, sir." A quiet moment passes. "Ngyn here."
"Ngyn, this is Director Vance, can you meet me in the evidence lock up in twenty-five minutes?"
"Uh… Sure…"
"Good. See you then."
Vance remembers one other thing as he walks toward the Navy Yard, another early morning, one very much like this, when he walked in through the bullpen and found McGee working on David's computer.
He remembers being told that McGee was making sure everything was nice and secure.
He remembers a few months later, when David walked into his office, handed him a bloody knife, and said, "For your wife."
She left, and he never asked. He didn't have to.
He knows that Gibbs' whole team handled the wet work.
He's sure McGee's the one who did the actual tracking.
And he knows, absolutely, that he owes McGee, all of them really, but right now he can repay one of them.
And he will.
The frustrating thing is that, even with Burley on it, and Vance knows Burley will hold this case and work it until he's out of case to work, is that John's secretary will fall on a grenade for him. And that the one thing they'll never know is if he was specifically ordered to make the call, or if John expressed displeasure and his secretary handled it, knowing, without being told, what his Boss wanted.
He thinks the play that Clayt is thinking of works like this. Once John no longer has the President's protection, Clayton will make a fuss, a private fuss, to John, one that will make it exceptionally clear that he will blast John's career and destroy his reputation if he does not step down immediately.
He doesn't know John McGee, but you don't get to be an Admiral unless you live and die for the Navy, so the embarrassment factor on having his name dragged through the mud, shaky case or not, should provide enough traction to get John out of his stars.
Leon thinks about that for a few minutes.
Then he thinks about what would have happened to McGee if Clayton hadn't gotten suspicious and decided to keep eyes on him.
Resigning is not good enough. It's a start. It has to happen because being forced to resign will, if John McGee is even half of the man he thinks he is, hurt like an amputation. But it's not nearly enough.
And he's got an idea of where enough begins.
Vance knows, on an intellectual level, that McGee'd revoked the dress code. But it'd been a while since he's been down in Cybercrime, so he was rather surprised to see this… girl… woman… he looks closer, she's a real adult, just small and dressing young, in jeans, a t-shirt, and oversized Converse All-Stars standing in front of the evidence lock up looking nervous.
"Director!"
He walks through the lock up, keying in his numbers, and goes to the back where the weapons they have confiscated are kept until they are destroyed. It takes him a moment, but he finds what he is looking for.
For what he needs, it'll do.
"Agent Ngyn, I want everything regarding this gun destroyed. All records of ballistics, every case it was involved in, the fact that this gun ever existed needs to vanish."
"Sir?"
"Everything. Dr. Palmer tells me McGee thinks highly of your skills. I need this gun to vanish. I need the fact that you and I met down here, that I'm taking this gun out of here, all of it needs to evaporate. Can you do this?"
She's staring at him, very wide-eyed. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Up you go to my office. Use my computer." He quickly writes down his passwords. "Take care of it."
"Yes, sir. Sir?"
"Ngyn?"
"Why is Doctor Palmer recommending me on McGee's behalf? McGee's okay, right?"
"Yes, Ngyn." He smiles kindly. "He's fine. You know 'he's at a conference?'"
"Yes?"
"He's war gaming. Top secret. Right now, he and everyone on his ship is locked down for radio silence."
"Oh."
"Got an undercover op that just went hot and needs a clean gun, normally he does things like that, so I had to find out who he'd send in if he couldn't do it for me himself, and I figured that if anyone would know, it's Palmer."
"Huh. Okay. I'll get on it."
"Thank you."
It's slightly before 03:00 eastern time when Vance, with a rifle, opens Gibbs' door.
He almost breaks his nose when the door doesn't actually open as he steps forward.
So he knocks, wondering when on earth Gibbs got a lock and why.
Less than a minute later the dog, who's name he couldn't remember, had bounded down the steps and is barking vigorously at him. Suddenly the lock makes a lot of sense. He's awfully glad he didn't just walk into that. Three minutes later a sleepy, disheveled, and upside down looking Jethro ambles down the steps in a pair of shorts and Marines T-shirt.
Barking.
Gibbs sits up, rubbing his eyes. One shift from working Gibbs to retired Gibbs is that he actually sleeps when he sleeps now. Before some little part of his mind was always a few degrees awake, ready to leap into action.
He hears another knock on his door. Great.
Abbi rolls over, looking at him, little bit of curious in her eyes. He waves it off. "Go back to sleep. Probably Fornell. He crashes here when he's got a case he doesn't want to take home."
She nods, looking mostly asleep too, and he gets up slowly, heads to his dresser, finds some shorts and a t-shirt and, still pulling the shirt over his head, wanders down the steps.
"Mona, hush up."
One last bark, and she bounds up the steps to him, thumping on down with him as he goes to the door.
Through the leaded glass in his door, he can't see who's there, but with each step, he's feeling a little more awake, and as sleep clears from his mind, that little voice that's always been able to sense danger starts to scream.
For a second, he can't place it, there's just a sense of blind panic.
Then he opens the door and sees Leon standing there, holding a rifle case.
Gibbs feels his knees go week. One second he's standing up, the next he's on the ground. Leon kneeling next to him, case forgotten for a second. It takes a good thirty seconds before he can pull his voice together enough to ask, "When did it happen?"
"Oh." And Vance, who is fully in revenge and justice mode, snaps out of that, realizing how bad this would look to Jethro. "No. No. Jethro. No. He's alive. Tim'll be fine, eventually."
From there, everything goes cold. He stands up slowly, taking the rifle case into his living room. "What happened?"
Vance explains, and then he explains some more, and then he pats the case. "And if we can't get a case against him, there's this."
Gibbs nods slowly, and he opens the case, looks at the contents, nods, and heads up the stairs.
While he does that, Vance calls Karen. She's less than thrilled to be woken up at 03:45 with a request to get the Lear Jet up and running and ready to go to Alameda, but she doesn't ask questions. She knows if he's asking for the fastest transport the Navy has for civilians in the middle of the night, it's important.
"When will you be back in the office?"
"Tomorrow, I hope."
He calls Lara, telling her what's going on, why he's not in bed, why he's not going to be home for a while, hopefully tonight, but probably late. She understands.
By the time he's done, Gibbs is down, he's got a duffle packed. It's not very full. He stuffs the rifle case into it, too. Now it's full. He takes a moment and gets a second bag packed, stuffing two bowls, dog food, and some rawhide chews into it.
"Abby next, right?" Leon asks.
Gibbs nods. Then Palmers', someone has to take Kelly and Mona in.
This wasn't supposed to happen. That was the whole point of Cybercrime! Gibbs and Vance weren't supposed to be in her home at 04:23 with bad news. He could have stayed a cop if this…
She's barely awake, pregnancy tired clinging to her, trying to drag her back to warm dreams where everything is fine, battling the surge of adrenaline that goes with waking up, finding Gibbs in her room, Vance hovering at the door to her bedroom, looking ready to kill someone.
She's crying, sobbing, before she can even put together what's going on, really.
But she knows, in her gut, she feels it. They wouldn't be here if everything was all right.
Gibbs has got his arms around her, rocking her, gently, saying… something, but she can't get the words, she's too trapped in tired/pain/hormones/terror bawling.
"Abbs… Come on baby, pull out of it. Abby… he's alive." Gibbs has said that about three times now, but it's not breaking through the immediate horror of him at her door in the middle of the night, Leon behind him. "Come on, Abbs, you've got to pull it together, hear what I'm saying, baby, he's alive. He's alive, and we've got a jet waiting for us so we can get to him. We've got to get Kelly all packed up and over to Jimmy and Breena so we can get to him. Come on…"
Eventually 'he's alive' filters through. It'd be almost comical the way she jerks when it finally hits, but this is real, and someone you care about's abject, soul-deep horror isn't funny.
She sniffs, wipes her nose. "Alive?"
"Yeah, Abbs, he's alive. He's hurt. But he's alive. And we've got to get to him."
She nods and begins to get up out of bed, grabbing her robe. "I'll get dressed. Can you…" her voice is rough, and it cracks, but she keeps talking, "get a bag packed for Kelly."
"Yeah. Want me to call Breena, too, let her know she's got some visitors coming soon?"
"Yeah. That's… Yeah. He's alive?" There's desperate terror in her voice, and Gibbs suddenly gets that the last time someone showed up in the middle of the night at her home and told her someone was alive but hurt, it was her parents, and her mom was already dead, and her father only had hours left.
Gibbs nods, holding her tight, kissing her forehead. "He's alive. Vance says that as of 04:10 he was stable to travel and they were med-evacing him to Alameda."
"How badly hurt?"
"Vance has more details than I do. Get dressed, get packed, stuff for Tim, pajamas and clean clothes, and he can fill you in when we go to Jimmy and Breena's."
That gets her moving. Every minute talking is a minute they aren't getting closer to Tim.
The second time a phone rings in the middle of the night, Jimmy's awake, and scared. It's Breena's phone, but she's still pretty groggy, so he grabs it.
"No bullshit this time, what happened?"
Gibbs wasn't expecting that, but he answers, "Tim's hurt, we're going to California, can Mona and Kelly stay with you? Don't know how long it'll be."
"Hurt? Hurt how?"
"John had his men try to beat him to death."
Jimmy goes cold at that. "Fuck. Okay, no more talking to me. I'll pick up the details when we're on the plane. Get the girls here as fast as you can."
"Thanks Jimmy. Vance has more details than I do, he'll call when we're in the air."
"Okay." He hangs up.
"Was that my phone?" Breena blinks a few times and sees that Jimmy's so pissed he's shaking. "What happened?"
He's jumped up and is packing a bag. "Can you take a few days on your own with an extra kid and Mona?"
"Jimmy, you're scaring me."
"Tim got on that fucking ship, and his dad tried to have him killed. All I know right now is that he's alive and Gibbs and Abby and Vance are heading to California, and if you can handle the kids, I'm going with them."
"Okay. Mona and Kelly are coming here?"
"Yes."
"I will handle it. Ducky and Penny'll help."
"Yeah, they will."
Breena gets up, and wraps Jimmy in a hug. "Okay, you get a shower, and eat. You've just packed nine pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, two left shoes, no shirts, and no underwear. I'll get you set to go. You get calmed down because Abby's going to need calm people around her, got it?"
Jimmy swallows, takes a very deep breath, lets it out, shakily, and nods. "I've got it."
She kisses him, holding onto him, tight.
"I don't even know how hurt he is." Jimmy's somewhere between rage and about to cry. "It's got to be bad because he's not talking to us, though."
She nods, holding him close, cradling the back of his head, kissing him. "We'll find out, and you'll get there, and you'll be his doctor, making sure they treat him right and he comes home to us."
"Yeah." He wipes his eyes, takes another deep breath, and heads for the shower.
It's a quiet handover. Kelly sleeps through the whole thing, and no one is surprised to see Jimmy's up, packed, and ready to go. Mona's confused because she doesn't see Molly, and visits to this house always involve Molly, so there's some barking, but Breena swings into Bad Ass Mommy Mode (which is identical to Alpha Bitch mode) and has her calmed down and toeing the line in a matter of seconds.
She kisses and hugs Jimmy and Abby as they head off. "You bring our boy back."
They both nod, ready to go.
"I'll call Ducky and Tony when it's really morning. Let me know how he is as soon as you do."
More nodding, more hugs, more kisses, and they go.
Tim wakes in a panic, everything hurts, there's this weird whupping noise, and he has no idea where he is, how he got there, or why. On top of that, he finds he can't move.
Fortunately, before he gets the chance to even start yelling a face hovers into view, one he doesn't know.
"He's awake, sir."
Jarvis comes into view.
"You didn't want to stay on your dad's ship, so as soon as you were stable enough to move they got you on a medevac flight. We're en route to Alameda."
"Okay." That helps with some of the panic, and the whupping noise suddenly makes sense, he's got to be on a chopper.
The first face, probably some sort of medic comes back into view. "Are you in pain?"
"What the fuck do you think? I'm enjoying this?" Tim's eyes go wide as that comes out. He'd been thinking it, but apparently the pain meds he's already on have shot the filter between his brain and mouth to shit.
"Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"
"Eight? I'm conscious, and I don't want to be."
"Okay. More pain medication coming up."
He can half-see out of his peripheral vision someone else messing with his IV. Then the medic comes back into view. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Sort of." He remembers fighting. He hurts all over, so he's got to be hurt bad. But he doesn't know how hurt he is.
Seems like Jarvis got that. "You remember the fight?"
"Images. Details are fuzzy."
"Do you remember after?"
"Not really." The image of his arm sprang to mind. "Oh God…" Fortunately the Medic is with it enough to figure out what that cue meant and gets the backboard he's strapped to tipped to the side, before he started to retch. No food in his system so it's just dry heaves. "My arm!" Tim manages to gasp when he stops retching. He remembers how it looked when the fight was over, but he's strapped down so he can't see it now, and he can't feel it, either.
"All bandaged up for travel. There's a team of orthopedic surgeons who are waiting for you in Alameda. The Stennis has a combat ready medical suite, and they say you should get full use of it back when it's healed up," Jarvis says.
"Can't feel it." There's a lot of panic in his voice as he says, "Everything hurts, but I can't feel my arm."
"You're on pain medication for your whole body, and a nerve block on your arm. You can't feel or move it." The Medic replies. That calms Tim down, he can't see his arm, but apparently it's still attached to him. "They assessed you in the infirmary. You have a concussion, a broken nose, chipped tooth, broken arm, and broken foot."
He'd nod if he could, but he can't. "Neck damage?"
"No, but we're not taking any chances for the trip. Your neck is braced and you're on a backboard. Once you get out of surgery you'll be able to move you head and neck again."
"Okay."
The Medic says a few other things, but by that point the pain medication is kicking back in again, and Tim checks out.
A Lear jet is the fastest transport NCIS has to offer for four people traveling together. There are lots of nifty goodies on board, the flight crew is beyond obsequious. On any other occasion, this would be a lovely trip.
But it's not, because anything other than Star-Trek style transporters is too damn slow. (And honestly, even if they could be beamed to California, it'd still be too slow.)
Gibbs is sitting next to Abby, keeping an arm around her. Right now she's praying, and from the looks of it, Gibbs is, too.
Jimmy's got Tim's medical records up on his computer. The rough version they filled out aboard the Stennis. He finishes reading, carefully shuts his computer, stands up, and kicks his seat, hard, three times.
Gibbs, Abby, and Vance stare at him as he does it. When he gets done he rubs his eyes, then stalks over to the bar, finds the strongest alcohol they've got (Vodka) pours three shots of it, and hands one to Gibbs, one to Vance, and shoots his back.
He picks up his computer, sits next to Abby, and says. "I'd have poured one for you, but I figured you wouldn't want it." She nods, face a mask of fear. Vance looks curious about that, but no one says anything, so he puts two and two together and decides Abby's pregnant again.
Jimmy opens his computer and begins to go over the details with them.
They're racing the sunrise, and winning. Perpetual dark of near dawn envelops the jet as it continues westward.
It's a bit after 06:00, by Vance's watch (Eastern time, he's not sure what local time is, or for that matter where they are) when they get confirmation that Tim's in Alameda, in surgery, and that they're in the process of putting his arm back together.
He gets up and asks the pilot how far out they are, and he says they're about an hour from starting the descent.
His mouth tastes really bad. That's the first thing that hits Tim as he starts to inch toward awake. His mouth tastes bad and is really, excruciatingly, dry.
He wants a drink.
A lot of drinks.
Hurting. That comes up next. Not as bad as last time, but everything, including his right arm, aches. Must be out of surgery.
There's a weird tugging sensation on his hair, and that finally gets him to open his eyes.
"Oh, you're awake. Hi. I'm Amelia Clark, one of the post-op nurses," says a woman in scrubs who's hovering over him.
"Water."
"Not yet. You'll just throw it up. I can give you a damp sponge to suck on."
"Okay." That weird sensation is in his hair, and he hears clicking. Tim gingerly turns his head. Oh. I'm being processed.
Jarvis is standing in the corner of the room. There are two other people, in scrubs, so nurses maybe. One of them is taking pictures of him. He still can't see most of himself, but the photographer is getting shots of his left foot and leg, which are awfully black and blue.
He thinks the medic on the trip said something about a broken foot. "Is that the broken foot?"
"Yes." The nurse who is photographing him replies. "Amelia has a walking cast we're going to get you set for in a moment. Just have to get the shots."
He nods, and then feels more tugging on his hair. "There's DNA from three of four of them on my clothing. Have you scraped my nails?"
"Yes." The nurse who is combing through his hair answers.
"Are they in custody?" Tim asks Jarvis.
"Everyone but Mane. The four you were fighting are all being kept apart from each other."
"Good."
"Vance is calling in Agent Burley to handle the case. Do you know him?"
Tim's a bit surprised and dismayed that it's not Tony handling the case, but he knows Stan, he'll do a good job.
"Yeah, I do. He's a good guy. Gibbs' first Probie."
Jarvis doesn't seem to know what that means, and Tim isn't feeling like explaining.
The nurse who is combing out his hair glances to Jarvis, and then says quietly, "Do you need a rape kit?"
"No." He wonders exactly how badly thrashed he looks if she'd ask that, and then it hits him that his leg is bare, he tries to touch his leg, see if he's got his shorts on, but comes to the conclusion that's not going to happen. His right arm isn't going anywhere, and the IV is in his left. He can't tell, but he's guessing he's naked under the sheets, and may have come in that way.
The photographer nurse steps to the side, lifting the blanket off of his other leg, taking photos. Apparently that leg's all bruised up, but nothing's broken. Amelia, the only one he's got a name for, carefully eases a cast under his right foot and ankle and begins to strap him into it.
"You'll get written instructions, too, but you can get this wet and walk on it. In six weeks, when you're home, they'll re-xray make sure everything is properly healed, and if it is, you'll be out of this." She then tucks his leg under the blanket as the photographer finishes with his leg.
He knows what comes next, but Amelia's glancing at Jarvis, silently asking if he wants Jarvis out of the room. "He can stay. Just take the blanket off and do them all at once, okay?"
The photographer strips him down, and begins shooting. He's bruised all over, and it does look like at least one of them got him in the balls. (Good thing there's no food in his stomach, just seeing the swelling and bruising is making him nauseous again.) That might also explain part of why the nurse wondered if he needed a rape kit.
(It's also making him wonder how much pain medication he's on. Everything right now aches, but… Well, he's taken a shot to the balls before, a much less severe one, and that hurt about ten times more than he does now.)
He can't see much of his chest, it's wrapped in tight bandages. But Amelia notices him looking. "Three cracked ribs. They were already wrapped when you got here, and we're not unwrapping you. Open your mouth."
She pops something that looks like a lollipop in his mouth. It's wet, which is good, and god-awful sour. He'd spit it out if it wasn't for the fact that his mouth is so damn dry.
She nods, apparently that's a common reaction to whatever this thing is.
"Keeps you from trying to swallow the liquid. Looks like Barb is done with the photos." She begins to pull the blanket back over him.
"Back, gotta get my back."
"Can't. Your arm is in traction for the next two days."
Right, the arm. He finally turns his head to look at it and… He can't really see it. There's this wodge of bandages, and some sort of pulley system attached to the tips of his fingers, and a black vinyl thing that looks a bit like his walking cast for his leg, and some other soft foam thing keeping his arm elevated, and another strap across his chest so that it can't flop around and…
"Am I ever going to move it again?"
The nurse waves that away. "Of course. Hon, you're in a trauma ward for the US Navy. Please, that's barely a flesh wound by our standards. Last week we put an arm that was clean torn off back on a Sargent. You're gonna be fine."
That's reassuring.
"We're pretty much all done here. How about you get a nap, and when you wake up, your family'll be here."
That also takes him by surprise, somehow the idea that they'd be on the way didn't hit him.
"Vance tells me they landed a few minutes ago. Still have an hour's drive to get here, but they'll be here soon," Jarvis say.
Tim nods slightly, closes his eyes, and finds that falling asleep, even aching from head to toes, isn't that tricky when you've got this much pain medication in your system.
It's a long hallway. A really long hallway. They come in from one end and find Jarvis, he leads them toward Tim, at the other end.
Solid door, they can't see in, and it's closed, so they don't know what's on the other side.
Abby hugs Gibbs and Jimmy, and then says, "I'll… I need to… Alone."
"Okay. We'll wait, right out here," Jimmy says. Gibbs just gives her another hug.
Her first thought upon entering the room, stupid, silly thought, she sat next to Jimmy as he read the different files, she knew, intellectually, how bad he was, but it didn't stop her from almost turning right around, walking out and saying, "This is the wrong room. That's not Tim."
His face is so battered and swollen and bruised, she couldn't have identified him by looking at it.
They cut his shirt off and didn't put a gown over him, so she can see the tattoo on his delt, marred, swollen, black ink merging into black, red, blue, purple bruises, and knows it has to be him.
She makes herself look, makes herself see, analyze, and plan, because she cannot just throw herself on the bed, weeping, wrapping around him.
His face is black, some spots are purple or green, one tiny patch along his right ear is still skin-colored. There's a brace on his nose. His lips are split, swollen, bruised.
There are choke marks on his throat. His collarbones are black and blue, both shoulders covered in greenish-yellow-purple. Upper chest doesn't look too bad, comparatively. Little patches of skin colored skin. Middle and lower chest are wrapped up tight in some sort of bandage.
His left hand is black-purple-green, knuckles bandaged. Left elbow in similar shape. There's an IV leading to the back of his left hand, which she's praying is sending powerful pain medication into him.
His right hand and wrist are in traction, his right shoulder is propped up, and strapped to the bed to keep it immobile. There's some sort of black vinyl thing, a cast of some sort, covering from his armpit to mid-forearm, and another device cradling his wrist. Each finger is braced, and wrapped in bandages, with a web of lines pulling on his hand, keeping the tension on it.
She can feel the tears pouring down her face. She can't hold him. She can't lie down next to him, rest her head on his chest and just soak up him being alive. She's crying, trying to be quiet, because she doesn't want to wake him up, though she's fairly sure they drugged him enough that he won't wake for anything short of the Apocalypse.
Abby spends a few minutes sitting there, next to him, fingers on his left wrist, stroking very gently over unbruised skin. For a moment she wonders where the cuff went. He's got his wedding ring, but beyond that appears to be naked under the blankets.
Her fingers find his pulse, feeling it, strong and steady. She spends a few moments thanking God that he's still alive.
There's another spot on his left shoulder, about the size of her palm. She lays a kiss to that little patch of un-hurt Tim, about to get up and let Jimmy and Gibbs in, and hears, voice very rough, "I must look like complete shit if you won't kiss my lips."
She snaps up, hand reaching to touch his cheek and then pulling back.
He sees her face, no makeup, red and puffy from tears. Sees her almost touch, but not quite.
She swallows hard. "I didn't think you'd wake up."
"Not sure if I am. I'm half-sure this is a dream."
She kisses his leg again. "I'm here. Jimmy and Gibbs and Vance are outside. Once you can travel, we're going to take you home."
"Today?"
She shakes her head. "No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"What's the day after that?"
"Monday. Maybe. We just got here, haven't gotten to talk to anyone, yet. Whenever they can unhook your arm, then you get to go home."
"Okay. Why are you kissing my shoulder?"
She wipes away her tears and tries to smile. "No bruises. I couldn't stand to do anything that might hurt you more."
His tongue slips over his lip, mapping the splits and the puffy, swollen flesh around them. She leans in and kisses the tip of his tongue.
"Do you have a mirror?"
She does but she says, "No," anyway. He doesn't need to see his face today.
He knows that she has a compact that lives in her purse and has a mirror on it, so she's lying to him. "Is it really that bad?"
She nods, more tears in her eyes.
"Okay. I don't need to see."
"Not until the swelling goes down some."
"Okay."
She kisses that bit of arm again. "I love you, Tim. Love you so much."
"Even ugly?" He tries to smile and that hurts, too, he can feel the skin of his lip separating again, so he stops.
"Tim!" She sniffles.
"I told you I'd fight to the last breath to come home to you."
"You did." Another sniff. "I love you so much, so much. Gibbs and Vance came at four in the morning and…" She's crying again.
"I'm alive, baby." His left arm seems free, so he very tentatively reaches up to stroke her face. That hurts bad. He doesn't know what's wrong with that arm, but it's not happy. However, her cheek in his palm, lips kissing him matters more than the hurt. He tries a very small smile. "I'm alive."
"I know. I do. Now." She wipes her eyes again. "Jimmy and Gibbs are going to want to see you. You want them to come in?"
"Little bit, feeling tired again."
"Okay, little bit, then you sleep some more."
They're waiting right outside the door, but by the time Gibbs and Jimmy get into Tim's room, he's asleep again.
Gibbs looks at Tim, lying there, just… broken.
He very gently ruffles his hair, kisses the top of his head, sees Tim wince in his sleep, and pulls his hand back.
He looks over at Abby, realizes that the little bit of his shoulder that she's touching has to be the only part that's not hurt and swallows hard, staring at the ceiling. He blinks once, twice, and once more, forcing himself under control. He can't break down, not in front of Abby, not until he's on his own.
So, if he can't fall into a mess, he can get mad.
He kisses the top of Abby's head, squeezes her shoulders, and heads into the hallway, where Vance is, again.
Vance didn't go in. This is a quiet, intimate, family moment, and he's not going to crash it. At the same time, though, he did look in and felt every ounce of blood in his body boil as he looks at McGee.
Vance is a cop. He's been at NCIS thirty-five years. He has seen literally thousands of dead people, and a whole lot of them looked way better than Tim McGee does right now.
Gibbs comes out a few seconds later. "I want on that ship."
"No."
He's giving Leon the help me or get out of my way look. "Leon."
"No. Agent Burley is heading there, with his team. The ship is heading back to port, and when they land, you can talk to him, but you will not get within sight of Admiral McGee. We will handle this properly until we cannot handle it properly anymore." There's so much ice in Vance's voice that it gets through to Jethro. He actually listens.
"Jethro, what do you know about John McGee?"
There are a lot of things he could say, but most of them are private, for Tim and the family and that's it, so he says, "He's the man who didn't call to see if his son was alive or dead after the Deering bombing."
Vance nods. He hadn't known that, but isn't surprised.
"Here's what I know about you: if I let you on that ship, you'll kill him. Here's what I know about me: Dying by your hands will not be nearly as slow or painful as what I want to happen to him will be. Here's what I know about him: He loves his rank, his ship, and his job, more than anything on earth, so we will rob him of it. Hell is whatever hurts worst, Jethro, and we will make him hurt. That rifle I gave you, use it, after he's been stripped of his rank and dishonorably discharged."
And Gibbs has to admit, that's something he can wait for.
Next
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Team Building
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 371: Team Building
In an effort to locate quality people for his pool of talent Tim has a specialized search in play for his news feed.
And on May 3rd, 2016, that search pays off.
He's writing up a plan. He's had it in play for a while, but, since they've now finished the active development stage of the paperwork software, he's got the time to put this into play. Namely, he's got 154 techs under his command, all of whom suddenly have a lot more free time, and that is a huge pool of talent.
So, he's writing up a memo about how he wants each member of Cybercrime spending at least one week a year studying, attacking, dissecting, all manner of closely scrutinizing their security protocols, looking for holes, weaknesses, or God, worse, spyware that's lurking in their code where it isn't supposed to be, and then one additional week on defense, building up extra walls, protecting them, when his computer chirps at him to let him know that something interesting is up.
And boy is it. His eyes flick through the storyline quickly, and before he has it done, he's already calling Abby.
"You okay on your own for a night?"
"Tim?" she asks, wondering what's up. Part of the whole Cybercrime thing is that he's not supposed to be just wandering off unexpectedly.
"Just went across the wire, three kids out of New Mexico just took down Anonymous. Got all of it, all of the servers, the nineteen people who were orchestrating it..." Yes, officially Anonymous is a collection of somewhat sympathetic to each other individuals all working toward vaguely similar goals, but, especially among law enforcement, there's always been the idea/hope that there was some sort of unifying force behind it, and if the story he's reading is right the answer to that was yes, and this girl... Cristin Brand, and her two buddies, just broke the whole thing open. "the fifty-four hundred people who were hacking, they took down the entire house of mirrors. The oldest one is seventeen. I want to be in the air in an hour and at her house offering her a job before the sun sets."
He can feel Abby smile.
"I think Kelly and I can do a night on our own. Go get your hacker!"
"Thanks. I'll call when I can."
"Love you."
"Love you, too."
Tim doesn't have a secretary. Every other Director at NCIS does. Why he doesn't has never occurred to him, but he's guessing it's because no one ever thought that his job would need one. After all, he already knows how to use a computer, which, from what he can see, is a lot of what the other Directors' Secretaries do.
He's never actually thought about that until right now when he's trying to figure out how to get in the air, while wrapping up his memo, and sending out another one for where he's going and why. Finally, he calls Vance's secretary and asks her what to do. He's found a commercial flight, but it leaves later than he'd like and won't get in until after ten.
He's hoping he can hop whatever Navy or Marine transport might be available and get there faster.
Karen gets him pointed in the right direction, and hooked into the air traffic schedule at Andrews, Norfolk, and Dover, and lets him know that NCIS does have a jet, and it is available to him, but as Director of Cybercrime, he's fourth on the list of people who get to use it.
But today, it's free. And tomorrow, it's free. So he snatches it, calling in with instructions to get ready to go, he'll be on the tarmac as soon as he can get there.
"Like the last five times, we are done talking to the press!" and the extremely irate woman with the black hair and brown eyes tries to shut the door in his face.
Tim's very glad that he got his foot in the door and that today's shoes are pretty tough, otherwise he'd have a very sore foot. She did not give the door a gentle push.
"I'm not with the press." He gets his ID out and the woman in front of him, who he's assuming is Cristin Brand's mother, squints her eyes to read it. She's frazzled. Probably didn't know what her daughter was up to, let alone expect the storm of reporters and tech bloggers who are camping out in front of her house. (They've actually got cops keeping them back. So the fact that they let him through probably should have been a hint he isn't a reporter.)
"What's NCIS?"
"Naval Criminal Investigative Service."
"We're not talking to you without a lawyer."
He holds up his hands. "I'm not here to interrogate your daughter; I'm here to offer her a job."
"What?" She's utterly stunned by that. Apparently none of the barracudas circling her home are headhunters. Their loss.
"May I come in?" It's got to be one hundred and ten out there, and sure, dry heat and all, but it's still hot! The fact that he's dressed for early May in DC is not helping the matter. Blue jeans, black button down, leather jacket (in the rental car) is not New Mexico-friendly clothing.
She squints at him again, but lets him in. A staggering wall of AC hits him, and for a second it feels really good, and then he's wishing he'd brought his jacket. Overheating to overchilled in less than five minutes. Splendid.
Enough of that, business time. She hasn't offered him a seat or a drink. She's got him standing in the foyer, looking at him warily.
"I'm Tim McGee, Director of Cybercrime for NCIS, we're a Federal Agency devoted to solving crimes involving Naval and Marine personnel and their families. We also work on terrorism and Naval and Marine security. Your daughter and her friends just counted one of the biggest hacking coups ever, and I want her working for me."
"Just like that. You've… You don't know anything about her."
"Are the stories true? Did she and her buddies take down Anonymous?"
"Yes."
"Then I want her, and when they turn eighteen, her buddies working for me. May I talk to her?"
"She hasn't even graduated high school, yet."
Tim thinks quickly, there's what, six weeks of school left for the year? He's not getting rid of Hepple until June, anyway. "She's a senior, right?"
"Yes."
"That's fine, I can't hire her until she's eighteen anyway. I'm comfortable with a whichever happens first start date."
Mrs. Brand (she still hasn't introduced herself, so he's hoping that's right) is still staring at him, dumbstruck. "Are you really serious?"
"I am dead serious. Yes, I do want to meet her and talk to her and see if this kind of job is interesting to her. But, if she wants it… We have what's called a Probationary Year. She'll work for us, be a full employee, but over the course of that year, if she's not happy or doesn't like it, she can leave and it's not a problem. No bad reviews, nothing like that. I just chalk it up to being a bad fit. If, at the end of the year, she wants a career with us, we're good to go."
"She's been accepted to MIT."
He nods. "MIT's a great school. I'm a Beaver, too. I got my MS there, class of 2002, and loved it. But, MIT also has a deferred acceptance program. She can work with me for a year, and if she doesn't love it, her place will still be waiting for her. Plus, they've put all of their classes online, so there's no reason why she can't study anything that takes her interest in her spare time. With as hot as she is right now, I'm certain that if she wants to work with me, and take a course or two a semester long distance with them, they will work with her to make sure it can happen. Trust me, they're going to want her on their alumni list.
"And, if she does love working with me, and just wants to work for me, four years from now, instead of being $170,000 in debt with no concrete job experience, she'll be…" Tim does a little quick math. "One hundred and forty thousand in the black, with four years of experience at a Federal agency, and the kind of skills that any firm would kill to have."
The assumed Mrs. Brand looks him over for a long minute, and then says, "Wait here. I'll go get her."
And, two minutes later Cristin Brand, the girl who got Anonymous, and her dad, had joined them in a sunny living room to hear more about this job at NCIS.
She's so young. He forgets exactly how young eighteen is, because it's been a long time, and there really aren't any teenagers in his life. She must have gone to school today, (Catholic school from the looks of it.) because she's in a plaid skirt, white shirt, and navy blue blazer. Her hair is long and black, her eyes are dark brown, like her mom's, and he's not sure if she's (and her Mom) half or a quarter Latino, (her Dad is blond with blue eyes) or just tan.
They talk, and she's smart, and enthusiastic, a little overwhelmed by all of this, little overwhelmed by him showing up and saying, 'Come with me, get to be a grown-up overnight, none of this messing around with college stuff, I'll give you a job and let you catch bad guys and save the day.'
After all, he remembers how it felt when he was not all that much older, and the FBI and IRS were offering him desk jobs and then Armstrong sauntered in and told him to leave that bullshit behind, come with him, and get to use a gun and put bad guys away.
(Though, in that he's sitting in her parents' living room, both of them watching him like a hawk, his version of 'leave this bullshit behind' is significantly more polite than Armstrong's was.)
But he's very much playing up the save the day angle, explaining their most recent cases, and how what they do literally saves lives, and she's impressed.
He asks her about what they did. Most science/hacking reporters know just enough about the subject to write something that other people who don't know anything about the subject find compelling. So, while he's sure that the main thrust of the coverage was right, took down the whole Anonymous syndicate, he's also sure the how and why aspects were, at best, glossed over.
So he gets her talking, and she spends two hours on it, working him through the whole thing, seeming to really enjoy talking about this with someone who gets it.
He's enjoying the conversation, too. She's got great instincts. She and her buddies can code like no one's business and they went in deep, built awesome covers, and broke the whole thing into pieces.
"When do you turn eighteen?" he asks as they wrap up.
"July 7th."
"If you want it, July 8th I've got a desk and a job waiting for you."
She's smiling at him, eyes bright. "Oh yeah."
"Wonder—"
"Wait a second. We are not letting you just snatch up our daughter," the now-introduced Marcella Brand says.
"Mom, I'll be eighteen. You can't stop me."
Tim holds up his hands. "Look, I get this. I've got a daughter of my own. You did college visits, right? Checked everything out, made sure the place looked good?"
All three Brands nod.
"Pack some bags. I've got a jet, so come back with me. Check it out. We pay travel expenses for people who come to interview, so putting you up for a night or two and then flying you back home won't be a problem." (He doesn't actually know if that's true or not, but if petty cash won't cover it, he'll pay out of pocket. He wants this girl on his team.)
"You have a jet?" David Brand asks.
"Not me personally. NCIS does. I've got 154 people under me all over the world, Cristin would be part of the 12 who report directly to me, but if I need to get to one of my other stations, I have to be able to travel."
"So, wait, you… what, read about her, grabbed a jet, and got here, just like that?" Marcella asks.
"Yes. I'm going to build the best Cybercrime division of any Federal Agency. You build something like that by investing is good people. You," he looks at Cristin, "are exactly the kind of person I want on my team. So, if you like, pack up, let's go see where you'll be working if you come with me."
He thinks it's the Lear jet that sells the Brands on the idea that this is a real job offer. The idea that his agency would go to this level of expense to come get her, and make her want to work for them, begins to settle them down.
Of course, after a day of annoying press badgering them (and they did swarm when they saw him leave with her) several hours outside of any contact with the rest of the world was probably pretty nice.
"You really want to hire me?" Cristin asks. She's been alternating between watching the sky and ground, and staring in awe at the jet. And Tim has to admit, it's an awfully cool jet. He did some staring in awe and fiddling with all the nifty little dohickies on the way over. Then he took pictures and spent a few minutes texting with Abby about the fact that he gets to use the Lear Jet!
"Yes."
"Don't I have to have a college degree or something?"
"I got some wiggle room from my boss on that. You've got to be over eighteen. You've got to do the job. Showing up on time, doing the work. You go to college, you can coast. You can play. You're more than smart enough that if you wanted to go and party for four years, you could. You come with me, you can't… Actually, you can do whatever you like on your off time. But, when you're on, you've got to be on, and they do random drug tests so you can't come up positive for anything. Beyond that, your off time is your own.
"So, for fifty hours a week, you'd be mine. The computer will spit out jobs, and you'll do them. They'll range from pretty easy stuff, NCIS agent in New Orleans, say, needs someone to track a suspect's computer history, to very hard stuff. You remember Ajay Khan?"
Her eyes go wide, and she nods. "That was you?"
Tim nods back. "Yeah. I'm the one who took him down. I had help. My partners actually grabbed him and made him talk, but I'm the one who found out what information we had to get out of him. Even thinking he was about to die, he was still trying to BS us, and I'm the guy who knew it was BS, so I got the right answer out of him."
"Wow."
"Thanks."
She stares at Tim for a few minutes, really looking at him, thinking. "So, why haven't I heard of you?"
Tim inclines his head, not exactly shrugging that off, but keeping the answer light. "Because I like it that way. Got a kindle on your phone?"
"Yeah."
He gets out his own phone, heads over to Amazon, and sends her a gift. "Maybe you have heard of me."
Her phone chirps to let her know it's got a new email and she sees the book he sent her. "You write books, too?"
He nods. "The job will take as much time as you'll let it, but it doesn't have to be your whole life. I've got a wife and baby girl at home, too. Cybercrime works twenty-four seven, but I work hard to make sure all of you have downtime, too. Once those pictures of us leaving your house go on the wire, some other agencies will get the idea that maybe they'd like to hire you, too. If I'm the only guy who shows up with a job offer in hand, I'll be stunned.
"They'll be good offers. Maybe better pay, maybe they'll say 'Go to college and we'll have a spot for you in four years.' They may offer to pay for college. I can't do that. But I can give you the best team, the best work/life balance, and the best cases. I can get you working now, and they likely won't. And I believe in teams, in the power of people who know how to work with each other, and how that makes the work better, makes you sharper, so as soon as they're old enough, your two friends'll get job offers, too.
"You won't always be working with them. They might not even end up at DC. I have to put people where I get openings, and the one I've got right now is in DC. The ones I have next year may be in Tokyo or Berlin or Detroit or… We've got stations all over the world.
"But if you let me, I'll leverage your skills, teach you to be an even better hacker than you are right now, and we'll catch killers and stop terrorists."
She stares at him with wide eyes. "I feel like I'm dreaming."
He smiles at that.
It's after ten when they get wheels on the ground. "So, get you settled and come in tomorrow morning, or come see everything now?"
The older Brands look like they're all in favor of settling down. Cristin wants to see Cybercrime.
So they go.
It's after eleven by the time they get in. "Pretty quiet this time of night. Ngyn and Connon are on, and I think Howard's still here. She's been hunting a digital terror cell for the last five days along with techs in Eido and Cartagena."
Brand's eyes light up at the big screen tvs, gaming stations, and snacks.
Tim sees that, and his Dad instincts are sharp enough to read the look. "That's for cooling off time. Sometimes it's good to have some time to just veg before you go back to it, and sometimes you need to cool off some before heading home. Either way, you can get it here." He points to the sofa and says to the adult Brands. "If they're too wired to drive, I don't let 'em go home without a nap or someone else driving."
"How old are most of your employees?"
"Cristin would be the youngest by six years. Next one is twenty-three, and she's a wunderkind, too. Most of the rest are somewhere between thirty and fifty-five."
"You're younger than a lot of your employees?" Dave Brand asks.
Tim nods. "NCIS respects talent more than years on the job. This time last year I was a field agent, actually carried a gun and arresting people. But I was better with a computer and had a better vision for where I wanted Cybercrime to go, so now I'm the guy in charge of it."
All three Brands look impressed by that.
He shows them the work stations, introduces Connon, who's busy working away. He explains what he's doing (pretty straightforward, just basic computer history for one of the guys upstairs) and tells the Brands a bit about working at NCIS.
Tim introduces them to Ngyn, whose eyes go wide when he introduces Brand. Then she looks to Tim and back to Brand, and immediately gets into a deep and heated conversation with Brand about what she'd done. Howard drifts over, sees the gab fest going on and hops into it, bringing over Caf-Pows and coffee.
"Cristin…" her dad says when it gets to 01:00.
She waves him off, her new buddies are awesome!
"Cristin, time for us to get some rest."
She pouts at him, but allows herself to be pulled away.
When Tim drops them off at the hotel he says, "There'll be a formal job offer in the mail tomorrow. If you want to come back tomorrow and meet more of my team, you're welcome to. If you want to just rest and head home, or do some sight-seeing, that's fine, too. I'll email you tickets for a return flight for tomorrow evening."
May 6th, Tim got a piece of mail, over-nighted from New Mexico. It was a signed job offer. He also got an email from Leon, short and to the point, You used the jet?
He sent back. Got five minutes to talk?
A minute after that, Sure.
He heads up to Vance's office, and as soon as he has the door shut he says, "I found my first seventeen-year-old."
Vance does not seem to think this is an answer to his comment about the jet, but says, "Tell me he starts after he turns eighteen?"
"She'll be eighteen in July, and she begins then."
He's not entirely sure if that look on Vance's face is amusement or concern. "You're hiring eighteen-year-old girls?"
"I hired the seventeen-year-old girl who flushed out Anonymous. I was at her house less than four hours after the news broke, which is why I needed the jet. And I gave her two best friends who helped offers to start the day they turn 18, in 2018."
"You going to have a space for them?"
"I'll make 'em if I have to. They're worth it. So, you saying I'm not supposed to use the jet? Karen," Vance's secretary, "said I was on the list for it."
"You are, just… Usually we send each other a note about it."
"Oh. Will do that next time."
"Good. Craig was surprised to see it wasn't sitting on the tarmac waiting for him."
"He didn't have it reserved."
"No, he didn't. He's the only one who uses it, so he didn't bother."
Tim gives Leon a not my fault sort of gesture. "Something blows up and I need to be there for it, unlike Jenner, I'll move. Someone hits my radar, someone I want for the team, I'll move on it. I've got no problem using Navy or Marine transport or going commercial, but if I need to be in Rota tomorrow, I'll be in Rota."
Leon smiles at that. "I'll remind Craig we've got a sign up system for a reason."
"Thanks."
Next
Chapter 371: Team Building
In an effort to locate quality people for his pool of talent Tim has a specialized search in play for his news feed.
And on May 3rd, 2016, that search pays off.
He's writing up a plan. He's had it in play for a while, but, since they've now finished the active development stage of the paperwork software, he's got the time to put this into play. Namely, he's got 154 techs under his command, all of whom suddenly have a lot more free time, and that is a huge pool of talent.
So, he's writing up a memo about how he wants each member of Cybercrime spending at least one week a year studying, attacking, dissecting, all manner of closely scrutinizing their security protocols, looking for holes, weaknesses, or God, worse, spyware that's lurking in their code where it isn't supposed to be, and then one additional week on defense, building up extra walls, protecting them, when his computer chirps at him to let him know that something interesting is up.
And boy is it. His eyes flick through the storyline quickly, and before he has it done, he's already calling Abby.
"You okay on your own for a night?"
"Tim?" she asks, wondering what's up. Part of the whole Cybercrime thing is that he's not supposed to be just wandering off unexpectedly.
"Just went across the wire, three kids out of New Mexico just took down Anonymous. Got all of it, all of the servers, the nineteen people who were orchestrating it..." Yes, officially Anonymous is a collection of somewhat sympathetic to each other individuals all working toward vaguely similar goals, but, especially among law enforcement, there's always been the idea/hope that there was some sort of unifying force behind it, and if the story he's reading is right the answer to that was yes, and this girl... Cristin Brand, and her two buddies, just broke the whole thing open. "the fifty-four hundred people who were hacking, they took down the entire house of mirrors. The oldest one is seventeen. I want to be in the air in an hour and at her house offering her a job before the sun sets."
He can feel Abby smile.
"I think Kelly and I can do a night on our own. Go get your hacker!"
"Thanks. I'll call when I can."
"Love you."
"Love you, too."
Tim doesn't have a secretary. Every other Director at NCIS does. Why he doesn't has never occurred to him, but he's guessing it's because no one ever thought that his job would need one. After all, he already knows how to use a computer, which, from what he can see, is a lot of what the other Directors' Secretaries do.
He's never actually thought about that until right now when he's trying to figure out how to get in the air, while wrapping up his memo, and sending out another one for where he's going and why. Finally, he calls Vance's secretary and asks her what to do. He's found a commercial flight, but it leaves later than he'd like and won't get in until after ten.
He's hoping he can hop whatever Navy or Marine transport might be available and get there faster.
Karen gets him pointed in the right direction, and hooked into the air traffic schedule at Andrews, Norfolk, and Dover, and lets him know that NCIS does have a jet, and it is available to him, but as Director of Cybercrime, he's fourth on the list of people who get to use it.
But today, it's free. And tomorrow, it's free. So he snatches it, calling in with instructions to get ready to go, he'll be on the tarmac as soon as he can get there.
"Like the last five times, we are done talking to the press!" and the extremely irate woman with the black hair and brown eyes tries to shut the door in his face.
Tim's very glad that he got his foot in the door and that today's shoes are pretty tough, otherwise he'd have a very sore foot. She did not give the door a gentle push.
"I'm not with the press." He gets his ID out and the woman in front of him, who he's assuming is Cristin Brand's mother, squints her eyes to read it. She's frazzled. Probably didn't know what her daughter was up to, let alone expect the storm of reporters and tech bloggers who are camping out in front of her house. (They've actually got cops keeping them back. So the fact that they let him through probably should have been a hint he isn't a reporter.)
"What's NCIS?"
"Naval Criminal Investigative Service."
"We're not talking to you without a lawyer."
He holds up his hands. "I'm not here to interrogate your daughter; I'm here to offer her a job."
"What?" She's utterly stunned by that. Apparently none of the barracudas circling her home are headhunters. Their loss.
"May I come in?" It's got to be one hundred and ten out there, and sure, dry heat and all, but it's still hot! The fact that he's dressed for early May in DC is not helping the matter. Blue jeans, black button down, leather jacket (in the rental car) is not New Mexico-friendly clothing.
She squints at him again, but lets him in. A staggering wall of AC hits him, and for a second it feels really good, and then he's wishing he'd brought his jacket. Overheating to overchilled in less than five minutes. Splendid.
Enough of that, business time. She hasn't offered him a seat or a drink. She's got him standing in the foyer, looking at him warily.
"I'm Tim McGee, Director of Cybercrime for NCIS, we're a Federal Agency devoted to solving crimes involving Naval and Marine personnel and their families. We also work on terrorism and Naval and Marine security. Your daughter and her friends just counted one of the biggest hacking coups ever, and I want her working for me."
"Just like that. You've… You don't know anything about her."
"Are the stories true? Did she and her buddies take down Anonymous?"
"Yes."
"Then I want her, and when they turn eighteen, her buddies working for me. May I talk to her?"
"She hasn't even graduated high school, yet."
Tim thinks quickly, there's what, six weeks of school left for the year? He's not getting rid of Hepple until June, anyway. "She's a senior, right?"
"Yes."
"That's fine, I can't hire her until she's eighteen anyway. I'm comfortable with a whichever happens first start date."
Mrs. Brand (she still hasn't introduced herself, so he's hoping that's right) is still staring at him, dumbstruck. "Are you really serious?"
"I am dead serious. Yes, I do want to meet her and talk to her and see if this kind of job is interesting to her. But, if she wants it… We have what's called a Probationary Year. She'll work for us, be a full employee, but over the course of that year, if she's not happy or doesn't like it, she can leave and it's not a problem. No bad reviews, nothing like that. I just chalk it up to being a bad fit. If, at the end of the year, she wants a career with us, we're good to go."
"She's been accepted to MIT."
He nods. "MIT's a great school. I'm a Beaver, too. I got my MS there, class of 2002, and loved it. But, MIT also has a deferred acceptance program. She can work with me for a year, and if she doesn't love it, her place will still be waiting for her. Plus, they've put all of their classes online, so there's no reason why she can't study anything that takes her interest in her spare time. With as hot as she is right now, I'm certain that if she wants to work with me, and take a course or two a semester long distance with them, they will work with her to make sure it can happen. Trust me, they're going to want her on their alumni list.
"And, if she does love working with me, and just wants to work for me, four years from now, instead of being $170,000 in debt with no concrete job experience, she'll be…" Tim does a little quick math. "One hundred and forty thousand in the black, with four years of experience at a Federal agency, and the kind of skills that any firm would kill to have."
The assumed Mrs. Brand looks him over for a long minute, and then says, "Wait here. I'll go get her."
And, two minutes later Cristin Brand, the girl who got Anonymous, and her dad, had joined them in a sunny living room to hear more about this job at NCIS.
She's so young. He forgets exactly how young eighteen is, because it's been a long time, and there really aren't any teenagers in his life. She must have gone to school today, (Catholic school from the looks of it.) because she's in a plaid skirt, white shirt, and navy blue blazer. Her hair is long and black, her eyes are dark brown, like her mom's, and he's not sure if she's (and her Mom) half or a quarter Latino, (her Dad is blond with blue eyes) or just tan.
They talk, and she's smart, and enthusiastic, a little overwhelmed by all of this, little overwhelmed by him showing up and saying, 'Come with me, get to be a grown-up overnight, none of this messing around with college stuff, I'll give you a job and let you catch bad guys and save the day.'
After all, he remembers how it felt when he was not all that much older, and the FBI and IRS were offering him desk jobs and then Armstrong sauntered in and told him to leave that bullshit behind, come with him, and get to use a gun and put bad guys away.
(Though, in that he's sitting in her parents' living room, both of them watching him like a hawk, his version of 'leave this bullshit behind' is significantly more polite than Armstrong's was.)
But he's very much playing up the save the day angle, explaining their most recent cases, and how what they do literally saves lives, and she's impressed.
He asks her about what they did. Most science/hacking reporters know just enough about the subject to write something that other people who don't know anything about the subject find compelling. So, while he's sure that the main thrust of the coverage was right, took down the whole Anonymous syndicate, he's also sure the how and why aspects were, at best, glossed over.
So he gets her talking, and she spends two hours on it, working him through the whole thing, seeming to really enjoy talking about this with someone who gets it.
He's enjoying the conversation, too. She's got great instincts. She and her buddies can code like no one's business and they went in deep, built awesome covers, and broke the whole thing into pieces.
"When do you turn eighteen?" he asks as they wrap up.
"July 7th."
"If you want it, July 8th I've got a desk and a job waiting for you."
She's smiling at him, eyes bright. "Oh yeah."
"Wonder—"
"Wait a second. We are not letting you just snatch up our daughter," the now-introduced Marcella Brand says.
"Mom, I'll be eighteen. You can't stop me."
Tim holds up his hands. "Look, I get this. I've got a daughter of my own. You did college visits, right? Checked everything out, made sure the place looked good?"
All three Brands nod.
"Pack some bags. I've got a jet, so come back with me. Check it out. We pay travel expenses for people who come to interview, so putting you up for a night or two and then flying you back home won't be a problem." (He doesn't actually know if that's true or not, but if petty cash won't cover it, he'll pay out of pocket. He wants this girl on his team.)
"You have a jet?" David Brand asks.
"Not me personally. NCIS does. I've got 154 people under me all over the world, Cristin would be part of the 12 who report directly to me, but if I need to get to one of my other stations, I have to be able to travel."
"So, wait, you… what, read about her, grabbed a jet, and got here, just like that?" Marcella asks.
"Yes. I'm going to build the best Cybercrime division of any Federal Agency. You build something like that by investing is good people. You," he looks at Cristin, "are exactly the kind of person I want on my team. So, if you like, pack up, let's go see where you'll be working if you come with me."
He thinks it's the Lear jet that sells the Brands on the idea that this is a real job offer. The idea that his agency would go to this level of expense to come get her, and make her want to work for them, begins to settle them down.
Of course, after a day of annoying press badgering them (and they did swarm when they saw him leave with her) several hours outside of any contact with the rest of the world was probably pretty nice.
"You really want to hire me?" Cristin asks. She's been alternating between watching the sky and ground, and staring in awe at the jet. And Tim has to admit, it's an awfully cool jet. He did some staring in awe and fiddling with all the nifty little dohickies on the way over. Then he took pictures and spent a few minutes texting with Abby about the fact that he gets to use the Lear Jet!
"Yes."
"Don't I have to have a college degree or something?"
"I got some wiggle room from my boss on that. You've got to be over eighteen. You've got to do the job. Showing up on time, doing the work. You go to college, you can coast. You can play. You're more than smart enough that if you wanted to go and party for four years, you could. You come with me, you can't… Actually, you can do whatever you like on your off time. But, when you're on, you've got to be on, and they do random drug tests so you can't come up positive for anything. Beyond that, your off time is your own.
"So, for fifty hours a week, you'd be mine. The computer will spit out jobs, and you'll do them. They'll range from pretty easy stuff, NCIS agent in New Orleans, say, needs someone to track a suspect's computer history, to very hard stuff. You remember Ajay Khan?"
Her eyes go wide, and she nods. "That was you?"
Tim nods back. "Yeah. I'm the one who took him down. I had help. My partners actually grabbed him and made him talk, but I'm the one who found out what information we had to get out of him. Even thinking he was about to die, he was still trying to BS us, and I'm the guy who knew it was BS, so I got the right answer out of him."
"Wow."
"Thanks."
She stares at Tim for a few minutes, really looking at him, thinking. "So, why haven't I heard of you?"
Tim inclines his head, not exactly shrugging that off, but keeping the answer light. "Because I like it that way. Got a kindle on your phone?"
"Yeah."
He gets out his own phone, heads over to Amazon, and sends her a gift. "Maybe you have heard of me."
Her phone chirps to let her know it's got a new email and she sees the book he sent her. "You write books, too?"
He nods. "The job will take as much time as you'll let it, but it doesn't have to be your whole life. I've got a wife and baby girl at home, too. Cybercrime works twenty-four seven, but I work hard to make sure all of you have downtime, too. Once those pictures of us leaving your house go on the wire, some other agencies will get the idea that maybe they'd like to hire you, too. If I'm the only guy who shows up with a job offer in hand, I'll be stunned.
"They'll be good offers. Maybe better pay, maybe they'll say 'Go to college and we'll have a spot for you in four years.' They may offer to pay for college. I can't do that. But I can give you the best team, the best work/life balance, and the best cases. I can get you working now, and they likely won't. And I believe in teams, in the power of people who know how to work with each other, and how that makes the work better, makes you sharper, so as soon as they're old enough, your two friends'll get job offers, too.
"You won't always be working with them. They might not even end up at DC. I have to put people where I get openings, and the one I've got right now is in DC. The ones I have next year may be in Tokyo or Berlin or Detroit or… We've got stations all over the world.
"But if you let me, I'll leverage your skills, teach you to be an even better hacker than you are right now, and we'll catch killers and stop terrorists."
She stares at him with wide eyes. "I feel like I'm dreaming."
He smiles at that.
It's after ten when they get wheels on the ground. "So, get you settled and come in tomorrow morning, or come see everything now?"
The older Brands look like they're all in favor of settling down. Cristin wants to see Cybercrime.
So they go.
It's after eleven by the time they get in. "Pretty quiet this time of night. Ngyn and Connon are on, and I think Howard's still here. She's been hunting a digital terror cell for the last five days along with techs in Eido and Cartagena."
Brand's eyes light up at the big screen tvs, gaming stations, and snacks.
Tim sees that, and his Dad instincts are sharp enough to read the look. "That's for cooling off time. Sometimes it's good to have some time to just veg before you go back to it, and sometimes you need to cool off some before heading home. Either way, you can get it here." He points to the sofa and says to the adult Brands. "If they're too wired to drive, I don't let 'em go home without a nap or someone else driving."
"How old are most of your employees?"
"Cristin would be the youngest by six years. Next one is twenty-three, and she's a wunderkind, too. Most of the rest are somewhere between thirty and fifty-five."
"You're younger than a lot of your employees?" Dave Brand asks.
Tim nods. "NCIS respects talent more than years on the job. This time last year I was a field agent, actually carried a gun and arresting people. But I was better with a computer and had a better vision for where I wanted Cybercrime to go, so now I'm the guy in charge of it."
All three Brands look impressed by that.
He shows them the work stations, introduces Connon, who's busy working away. He explains what he's doing (pretty straightforward, just basic computer history for one of the guys upstairs) and tells the Brands a bit about working at NCIS.
Tim introduces them to Ngyn, whose eyes go wide when he introduces Brand. Then she looks to Tim and back to Brand, and immediately gets into a deep and heated conversation with Brand about what she'd done. Howard drifts over, sees the gab fest going on and hops into it, bringing over Caf-Pows and coffee.
"Cristin…" her dad says when it gets to 01:00.
She waves him off, her new buddies are awesome!
"Cristin, time for us to get some rest."
She pouts at him, but allows herself to be pulled away.
When Tim drops them off at the hotel he says, "There'll be a formal job offer in the mail tomorrow. If you want to come back tomorrow and meet more of my team, you're welcome to. If you want to just rest and head home, or do some sight-seeing, that's fine, too. I'll email you tickets for a return flight for tomorrow evening."
May 6th, Tim got a piece of mail, over-nighted from New Mexico. It was a signed job offer. He also got an email from Leon, short and to the point, You used the jet?
He sent back. Got five minutes to talk?
A minute after that, Sure.
He heads up to Vance's office, and as soon as he has the door shut he says, "I found my first seventeen-year-old."
Vance does not seem to think this is an answer to his comment about the jet, but says, "Tell me he starts after he turns eighteen?"
"She'll be eighteen in July, and she begins then."
He's not entirely sure if that look on Vance's face is amusement or concern. "You're hiring eighteen-year-old girls?"
"I hired the seventeen-year-old girl who flushed out Anonymous. I was at her house less than four hours after the news broke, which is why I needed the jet. And I gave her two best friends who helped offers to start the day they turn 18, in 2018."
"You going to have a space for them?"
"I'll make 'em if I have to. They're worth it. So, you saying I'm not supposed to use the jet? Karen," Vance's secretary, "said I was on the list for it."
"You are, just… Usually we send each other a note about it."
"Oh. Will do that next time."
"Good. Craig was surprised to see it wasn't sitting on the tarmac waiting for him."
"He didn't have it reserved."
"No, he didn't. He's the only one who uses it, so he didn't bother."
Tim gives Leon a not my fault sort of gesture. "Something blows up and I need to be there for it, unlike Jenner, I'll move. Someone hits my radar, someone I want for the team, I'll move on it. I've got no problem using Navy or Marine transport or going commercial, but if I need to be in Rota tomorrow, I'll be in Rota."
Leon smiles at that. "I'll remind Craig we've got a sign up system for a reason."
"Thanks."
Next
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)