Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

The discordant sound of his cell playing Folsom Prison Blues yanked John Sheppard out of sleep. His hand was already on the phone and drawing it close to his ear to respond even before he’d completely woken up.

“Sheppard.” John growled out.

“Wow, aren’t we grumpy this morning, Special Agent Sheppard?” His ex-wife and best friend greeted him cheerfully.

“Nancy.” John turned over in the bed and glanced at his watch. “Do you know what time it is?”

Too early was John’s opinion, especially for someone who hadn’t gotten to bed until earlier that morning thanks to a late flight back after dealing with a sick serial killer in the mid-West.

He smacked a hand over his face and rubbed it vigorously.

“Of course, I know what time it is.” Nancy replied.

He could hear the slight distortion in her voice that indicated she’d tucked the phone up between her shoulder and ear to continue talking to him while she cooked. The sound of her beating something in the bowl was pretty loud and only broken up by the barks of her dog, Boomer.

“I wanted to check you were back and coming over for breakfast.” Nancy asked.

He wasn’t oblivious to the hint of anxiety in her voice.

“I’m back and I’m coming for breakfast to meet Brett.” John assured her. He wasn’t really sure why it was so important to Nancy that he meet her latest boyfriend but he’d play along; he owed her that much after all the crap he’d put her through during their admittedly short marriage.

“His name’s Brent and good,” Nancy said, “I’ll see you later.”

John mumbled a goodbye and slapped the phone down on the bed. He gave a groan.

He was awake.

He wasn’t getting back to sleep.

He pushed back the covers and headed into the bathroom. He followed his usual morning routine, cleaning up just enough to drag on a plain black set of sweats to head out for a run.

He shut the door on his apartment and took the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator; it was a good way of warming up. He paused in front of the building to do a series of stretches and watched as one of his favourite neighbours jogged up dressed in running gear of their own.

Anthony DiNozzo lifted a hand in acknowledgement as he slowed and paused by John. He started a series of cool down stretches.

“You’re late this morning.” Tony commented, a touch breathlessly.

John nodded. When they were both in town and not on a case usually it was John arriving back from his jog to find Tony setting off rather than the other way around; on rare occasions they ran together. “Bad case. Got in late last night.” He knew Tony would understand given he was also a federal agent albeit in a different agency.

Tony winced in sympathy. “You got the guy though, right? The Corn Killer? It was all over the news last night how the FBI had caught him.”

John nodded, hiding his inner enjoyment at watching Tony stretch. John could admit to himself that Tony was one gorgeously put-together man especially when Tony flashed him a quick smile which lit up his classically handsome face.

“You know the news never mentions NCIS when we catch a dirt-bag just calls us federal agents.” Tony complained, straightening up, hands low on his hips. His gaze narrowed on John’s for a moment. “So one totally evil bad guy off the street; that’s a win.”

“Only a million more to go.” John quipped as he did another series of stretches to stay talking with Tony for longer. He figured Tony had seen something of his unrest about the case in his eyes if he was offering words of comfort.

Tony laughed lightly. “Keeps us in a job, I guess.”

“It does.”

“Hey,” Tony said, “you around Saturday? I figure pizza, beer, football?”

John’s heart leaped a touch at the invite, despite the fact that it wasn’t the first time he and Tony had watched a game together since he’d moved in a year before. John knew Tony didn’t mean for it to be a date. The first time they’d met had been because John had bumped into Tony in the elevator and asked for directions to the nearest sports bar; he’d had the apartment a day and hadn’t gotten his cable sorted out. Tony had dragged John back to his own apartment where they’d discovered a mutual love of college football. Since then, it wasn’t unusual for them to meet up to watch a game, or a movie, or just to grab a beer and have someone provide an understanding ear.

“Sounds good.” John replied.

Tony grinned and jerked a thumb back toward the building even as he took a step toward it. “Got to go.” He said, and John liked to think he heard a note of regret in the other man’s voice. “My car’s in the shop and McGee complains if I’m not ready on the dot when he gives me a ride.”

John nodded in understanding as he stopped stretching.

“Saturday.” Tony repeated over his shoulder as he headed inside.

John waved at him in response and waited until Tony was completely inside before he set off for his own run.

It was a typical overcast October day in the nation’s capital city. It made John miss the West coast where he’d lived for a few years, but it didn’t take John long to lose himself in the rhythm of running. His long strides ate up the miles as he made a wide circuit around the neighbourhood. His mind went blessedly blank as he navigated pedestrians and road crossings. He finally let go of some of the lingering horror of his last case and allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction that he and his team had put another killer away.

It was strange, John thought as he finally turned back; he’d never considered law enforcement as a career when he’d been growing up. Back then all he’d wanted to do was fly.

It was the reason why he’d joined the Air Force. He’d achieved his dream too, flying some of the most advanced aircraft in the world; helicopters, jets, cargo planes…there was hardly a bird he hadn’t flown by the time he’d left.

But he had never flown since.

His Special Forces training had made him a perfect fit for the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. A former CO had approached him to join after learning of his discharge and John had never regretted the move. But the physical requirements of the HRT were challenging, and when John had finally started feeling his age, he’d transferred into the Criminal Investigative Branch. It suited him and while some of the cases got to him, he believed he was still serving; still making a difference.

His cell phone rang as he entered his apartment and he groaned as he recognised the ringtone. He picked up quickly. “Hi Mom.”

Catherine Sheppard hummed her hello. “I just spoke with Nancy. She said you’re going over for breakfast.”

“Yeah, to meet Brett.” John said, throwing his keys into the bowl by the door and heading into the kitchen to grab some water.

“Brent.” His mother corrected. “He’s a lovely young man, John. He’s good for her so don’t do what you normally do and scare him off.”

“Geez, Mom. Don’t hold back.” John joked. “Tell me what you really think.”

“John…” His mother sighed. “You can’t deny that you’ve chased away the last three men she’s dated.”

“OK,” John said putting the phone on speaker while he twisted the cap off a bottle of water, “one; Harold was a creep…”

“Fine, I’ll give you that.”

“Two; Cyrill was allergic to Boomer.” Which was code for Cyrill trying to kick the dog once Nancy was out of the room and he didn’t think John was watching. Seeing Nancy throw Cyrill out had been pretty great.

“You and Nancy have never really explained that.” His mother pointed out in a dry enough tone that John suspected she knew the truth.

“And three…” John took a gulp of water and sighed. “OK, I kind of chased off Stuart.” He admitted. “But in my defence he was a dweeb and Nancy deserves better.”

His mother sighed. “Really, John? A dweeb?”

“He still lived in his parents’ basement and his main hobby was bird-watching.” John retorted.

“Fine,” his mother conceded, “he was something of a dweeb. But Brent doesn’t come across as a dweeb.”

John picked up his phone and started toward his bedroom. “You’ve met him already?”

“He joined us at the opera Tuesday.” His mother informed him briskly. “I think he’s smart and charming.”

“So, I’ll do my best not to chase him off.” John agreed. “You know some people might think it’s weird how invested you are in your ex-daughter-in-law’s love life.”

“Only those who don’t know she was my goddaughter long before she was your wife.” His mother said cheerfully.

John gave a hum of agreement because it was a good point.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you but I’m very proud of the way you two remained friends after the divorce.” His mother said softly.  

John swallowed around the lump that had appeared in his throat. “Mom…”

“Very proud.” His mother repeated. “Now, remember…”

“Don’t chase away Brent.” John repeated. “Got it.”

“Just give him a chance.” His mother said firmly. “And speaking of chances, is there anyone you would like us to meet?”

John briefly thought of Tony before he pushed that thought out of his head. He really had to stop crushing on straight guys. Nothing Tony had said to him in the year they’d known each other suggested Tony was interested in him as more than a friend. “When do I get time to meet anyone?”

“You know your father just appointed a new director for R&D, supposedly very smart and…” His mother began.

“Mom.” John didn’t even bother to hide the whine in his voice. “You are not setting me up.”

“At least if I set you up you’d meet someone.” His mother pointed out.

“Why don’t you set up Emily?” John tossed out at her as he yanked his shirt off and dumped it in the laundry basket. “Nobody can be any worse than the guy she’s dating right now.”

“Your sister has a particular type.” His mother sighed.

Yes, John mentally agreed; losers.

“Look, Mom, I appreciate your concern,” John said, “but I’m good. I like being single.”

“I just…” His mother replied, “I just want you to be happy.”

John rubbed his forehead and grimaced at the layer of sweat there.

“And I admit, I’d like more grandchildren to spoil.” His mother continued.

“Dave and Holly have another on the way.” John said, defensively.

His mother harrumphed. “Yes, and this is their third child. Your brother shouldn’t be the only one procreating.”

“Do we have to use the word procreating?” John grimaced. “And do I have to point out the obvious about a gay male relationship?”

“Surrogates.” His mother immediately responded. “Dinner,” she suggested before John could argue further about his likelihood of procreating, “come to dinner on Saturday and meet them. What could be the harm?”

“I have plans Saturday.” John replied without thinking.

There was a pregnant pause and John winced as he realised what he’d said.

“So,” his mother said gleefully, “you have met someone.”

“Sorry, Mom, I need to jump in a shower and get going otherwise I’m going to be late for breakfast.” John deflected rapidly.

“Hmmm.” His mother sighed. “Fine; don’t tell your mother. Go. Shower.”

“Bye, Mom.” John said brightly.

“Take care, John.” His mother signed off and John tossed the phone down.

He glanced at his watch and swore. He might have given it as an excuse to his mother but he really was going to be late if he didn’t get a move on.

o-O-o

“That was a really good breakfast.” John patted his full stomach and tried not to think too much about what he really wanted to do which was to crawl back into bed and go to sleep. He wasn’t going to get a chance to do that though; he only had another thirty minutes before he needed to leave for the office.

“I’m glad it didn’t go to waste.” Nancy said sliding back into her seat beside him at the small breakfast table. She picked up her coffee mug and took a gulp.

John grimaced and picked up his own coffee. “I’m sure there’ll be a good explanation why Brent didn’t turn up.” He offered brightly. “Mom likes him.”

Nancy sighed heavily. “One nice guy. I just want to meet one nice guy.” She sat back. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Tell me about it.” John muttered.

Nancy’s lips quirked upwards and he gave a small inward sigh of relief that he’d managed to cheer her up. She’d been alternatively despondent and angry as time had gone by and there’d been no word from Brent and no sign of him.

“I don’t know why he didn’t come today.” Nancy complained, reaching over the table and snagging a blueberry from a bowl. “All I said was I wanted him to meet my best friend. I didn’t even mention you were a guy. He could have called at least.”

“There’s probably a good reason why he didn’t come.” John said again. “He might have had a family emergency or he could have gotten sick or…anything.”

“Or he’s decided he doesn’t need to be with someone who’s already had two failed marriages.” Nancy said.

“Hey.” John was almost tempted to reach over and take hold of her hand but he stopped just short. “You were a great wife. Greg was an idiot…”

“Grant.” Nancy inserted dryly.

“…and so was I.” John finished.

“You weren’t an idiot.” Nancy said. “You were gay and didn’t know it. We were both too young.”

John grimaced and sat back but he didn’t refute it. He and Nancy had known each other all their lives. They’d started dating at sixteen, he’d proposed at Nancy’s graduation from Harvard, and they’d married straight after college. It had been comfortable and safe. Then two years into his service John had met Lyle Holland and he’d had an epiphany about his sexuality.

Nancy had actually been pretty incredible when he’d arrived home on leave and told her he’d realised he was gay. She’d even offered to stay married to help keep his secret since he’d wanted to stay in the Air Force. But he’d insisted on the divorce knowing it wasn’t fair to her when he felt the way he did about Lyle. Besides, she’d always struggled with being a military wife, and especially with the lack of information about what John was doing. He figured she’d been almost as relieved as he had when they’d divorced.

“Grant was an idiot.” Nancy allowed.

Grant had been a cheating bastard, John thought. Nancy’s second husband had grown jealous of her professional success and had followed the cliché of having an affair with his secretary. At least John had waited until his divorce before he and Lyle had…he stopped that thought before he drifted into maudlin territory.

“So,” Nancy shifted leaning forward suddenly, “enough about my horrible love life.” Her dark eyes met his challengingly. “What about you? Have you made a move on your hot neighbour yet?”

“Don’t you start.” John said exasperated. “Mom was trying to set me up with Dad’s new R&D guy this morning.”

Nancy smiled. “Really?”

“Really.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “She wants more grandchildren.”

Nancy’s brow creased. “She does get that if you hook up with another man…”

“Apparently I could get a surrogate.” John waggled his eyebrows.

Nancy tilted her head. “You’d know I’d offer but you’d be best going for someone younger.”

“Firstly, you’re not old.” John argued, waving his coffee cup at her.

“We’re forty, John.” Nancy pointed out.

“And secondly,” John continued, ignoring the truth about their ages, “I’m kind of OK not having kids.”

“You love Nick and Ally.” Nancy retorted, plucking another blueberry up.

“Sure,” John agreed, “because I can hand them back to Dave at the end of the day.” His niece and nephew were pretty great though.

“And don’t think I don’t see that you’re avoiding the question about DiNozzo.” Nancy said pointing at him.

John hid his face in his mug. “He’s straight.”

“You’ve been flirting with him and pseudo-dating him since you moved into your apartment.” Nancy said smartly. “And I have it on good authority that he’s not as straight as you think.”

John looked up sharply from the bottom of his mug straight into Nancy’s amused gaze.

“Thought that might get your attention.” Nancy remarked with a smirk.

“Nance…”

“My source says he went out with a friend of hers a couple of times years ago, but then her friend called it off when they were spotted out together. He was a cop; didn’t want to draw attention.” Nancy said.

John dipped his head in understanding. He’d left the Air Force for a different reason but being a gay man under the restriction of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell hadn’t been easy. Not that he was openly out as a FBI agent either. There was still a sense that it was best to keep his sexuality to himself regardless of how many seminars the agency ran to promote tolerance and openness. Nancy knew; his family knew; John figured it was enough that he was honest with them. It was nobody else’s business.

“John.” Nancy reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. It made him realise just how tense he’d gotten.

John shook his head. “It’s a big risk, Nancy.”

“I know,” Nancy said gently, “I know it’s a big risk for you, and I’m not talking about just asking a guy out and not knowing their reaction; I’m talking about getting involved with someone you really like.”

He ducked his head.

“I haven’t seen you be this interested in someone since Lyle.” Nancy finished softly.

John swallowed hard. He still found it hard to talk about Lyle despite it being years since the other man had died.

“DiNozzo doesn’t seem like the type to freak out if you were to ask him out.” Nancy said, switching them back to safer ground.

John glanced up at her and saw the willingness to let the more serious discussion go. He gave her a small smile in gratitude. “I don’t think he’d freak out.” He admitted.

Tony was a good guy. If John asked him and he wasn’t interested, John figured Tony was most likely to simply say ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ No, the bigger risk was in some ways Tony saying yes, because Nancy was right; John liked Tony a lot. The more time he spent with Tony, the more he felt that like was morphing into something a little richer, a little deeper. Something he didn’t want to label.

“So ask him.” Nancy pushed. “You realise that not everyone is going to kiss you to give you the heads up they’re interested?”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement because that was exactly how she’d grabbed his attention at her sixteenth birthday party. It was also how he had finally gotten together with Lyle; the other pilot had gotten tired of John failing to get a clue about his interest and laid one on him when they’d been alone on leave.

“OK.” John said slowly. “We’re getting together Saturday to watch a game so…I’ll ask him out then.”

Nancy sat back with a satisfied expression.

“Now can we stop talking about this?” John asked a little desperately.

Nancy laughed and obligingly changed the subject.

o-O-o

John walked into the office and set down the spare muffins Nancy had boxed up for him on the end of Ruben Tyler’s desk. The young African-American had joined the FBI straight out of college a few months before. He was fresh out of the Academy and the Corn Killer had been his first case. John’s team often had new agents spend a period of time with them, gaining a good grounding in investigative work before they were assigned out to field offices.

Ruben’s expression brightened as he sniffed at the box and peeked under the lid. “Blueberry muffins? Awesome. You should see the ones my Gran makes.”

“To share with the rest of the team.” John said and wasn’t surprised when a moment later he was almost pushed out of the way as the others crowded in.

He watched for a few minutes, feeling a little smug about the team he worked with.

“Thanks, John.” Francesca Gomez flashed him a bright smile. She tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and looked at Ruben with dark beseeching eyes.

Ruben handed a muffin to her with a sigh. “Guess you deserve this. Your tracker virus found our unsub.”

Frankie grinned at him and accepted the muffin. “Thank you, Ruben. Maybe next time you won’t be so sceptical about computer smarts winning the day.”

“Hey, I was wrong.” Ruben admitted with a grin. His café au lait complexion flushed with a hint of red. “I can admit it. Without you, we might never have found Kirby Leyton.”

John felt a flare of satisfaction. Ruben had been outright dismissive of the computer skills in the team and the role they played in bringing criminals to justice when he’d joined them. It was good his opinion was changing.

“And don’t you forget it.” Michael Donnelly snagged a muffin. “We’re the muscle; they’re the brains. We wouldn’t get very far without these guys.”

John watched as Ruben absorbed the advice of the more experienced agent and knew Ruben would pay attention to it. The red-haired Donnelly and John occasionally clashed in their approaches since John was much more laid back than Donnelly, a former cop. But they’d developed a good respect after working together for two years and John knew Donnelly always had his back.

“You should also remember Frankie has a black belt and knows how to use it.” Doctor Rebecca Armitage commented, holding out a hand and accepting the muffin Ruben placed upon it. “Thank you for breakfast, John.”

John gave a nod in response. Rebecca was their resident psychologist; she was superb at getting into the heads of criminals and terrorists. She was also deceptively sweet looking with her strawberry blonde hair, pretty features enhanced with big brown eyes, and slim build. John knew she also had a black belt in judo.

He worked with some dangerous women.

And one really dangerous man.

“Hey, Charlie! Muffin?” Frankie waved the muffin at their second technology specialist; Doctor Charlie Wong.

Wong was a former CIA analyst. He worked with the team providing knowledge and expertise in intelligence and technology. He often boasted that there wasn’t a computer system he couldn’t hack.

“Nope.” Charlie stated, without looking up from his computer screen. “His ex-wife hates me.”

“Yes,” John said dryly, “because Nancy made too many muffins on the off chance I’d bring them into work and you’d die from eating the one she had secretly poisoned.”

But it was true that Nancy hated Charlie. It might have had something to do with how Charlie had insulted her profession and Homeland within minutes of meeting. Of course, then the conversation had devolved into politics and pretty much on any topic, if Nancy was on one side, Charlie would be on the other.

Charlie glanced up and shot him a disgruntled look. “I wouldn’t put it past her. Now, shut up; I’m trying to watch this.” He thrust a hand out toward his computer.

“Watch what?” John asked. He sidled around to stand behind Charlie and tried hard not to wince at the garish lime green striped v-neck sweater vest Charlie wore over a purple shirt. His pants were the same colour purple as the shirt as were the frames of his glasses. At least he’d tied his long dark hair back into a neat ponytail.

John dragged his gaze from Charlie’s ensemble and focused in on the main monitor attached to Charlie’s desk. He frowned at the sight of a radio station surrounded by police and NCIS vehicles. “What is this?”

“There was an on-air shooting this morning.” Rebecca answered as she came to stand beside John. “The host of the show, his technician and a guest Navy Commander out of the Office of Public Affairs were all killed.”

“I guess that explains the NCIS presence.” John murmured. He wondered if Tony had caught the case. “Terrorist?”

“Don’t know.” Charlie said, twirling a pen between his fingers. “No statement yet.”

“I actually heard it in real time.” Frankie admitted.

“Please tell me you don’t listen to that crap, Frankie.” Donnelly complained, brushing muffin crumbs from the front of his black t-shirt. His blue eyes were bright with amusement.

“Adam Gator’s hot.” Frankie grimaced suddenly. “Was hot.”

“OK,” Donnelly joked, “all your cool points? Lost. Right there.”

Frankie stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just upset that I prefer my men tall, dark and handsome.”

Donnelly was red-haired, stocky and short. John hastily turned his laugh into a cough.

“John?”

John turned at the sound of the team’s Supervisory Agent, Pamela Bellows, and moved off as she waved for him to join her in his office. He left the bullpen and entered the small office closing the door behind him.

It was a sparse space; a bookcase lined one wall filled with legal and procedural books. Pam had been a corporate lawyer before she’d entered the FBI. Her desk was also sparse; a photo of her family, a computer, a blotter, the desk phone, her mobile charging up and one single file open. Her academic certificates decorated the wall behind her.

Her hair was trimmed short and bleached white; emphasising the regal shape of her head and the deep mahogany of her skin tone. She was every inch the professional woman dressed in a smart blue pinstripe pants suit with a plain crisp white shirt. Her shoes were practical ankle boots in a matching navy colour.

John sank into one of the comfortable visitor chairs and gave her his attention as she retook her seat.

“How are you?” asked Pam without preamble. “And for the record ‘fine’ is not an acceptable answer. I saw how you looked when you got off the plane.”

Her direct approach was one of the reasons John liked her. He shrugged. “I just hate it when we have to wait for someone else to get hurt.”

Pam nodded. “It’s never a tactic we just accept, you know that.”

“I know,” John agreed, “and I know we exhausted every avenue this time too. I just…” he gave a shrug in lieu of words.

“Hate it.” Pam finished for him.

John gave a short, sharp nod. There were things he wanted to say but which he’d never give voice to because it just wasn’t him. He’d never admit how waiting for another victim made him feel sick to the stomach; made him feel like a failure. But he knew he didn’t need to because Pam knew him.

“My daddy used to say you can’t save everyone.” Pam said softly.

“But we can try, right?” John said.

Pam smiled widely. “We can try.”

o-O-o

John threw his keys in the bowl by the door and kicked it shut behind him. He dropped the take-out he’d picked up on the way home on the coffee table, dumped his coat on the back of a chair. He picked up the remote without thinking about it and switched the television on.

He headed into his kitchen, pulling a bottle of beer from the fridge and discarding the top by throwing it into the sink. He took a long drag from the bottle as he walked back into the living room. He set the beer on the coffee table, shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie, sitting down. He pulled the take-out bag closer and unpacked one carton, diving back in for the chopsticks. He finally glanced up at the television screen.

“…and Senator Hal Howard denies any inappropriate behaviour with intern Kelly Schaefer at this time.” The glossy reporter commented in a serious tone from the steps of Congress. “Back to you in the studio, Bill.”

“Thank you, Diane.” The ZNN anchor-man Bill Constantine stared down the camera with another serious face. “We turn now to the brutal shooting of radio host Adam Gator early this morning. Gator’s morning Backtalk show was a mainstay of 86.9 FM’s line-up since the radio station began. For more, let’s go to our local correspondent Julia Polinksi, who is at the radio station this evening. Julia, what can you tell us?”

“Not very much, Bill.” Julia said.

John looked up from his kung pao chicken to find a shot of Julia parked outside the radio station. One lone State police car was parked out the front and all other vehicles were gone.

“What we do know is that at approximately eight A.M. this morning, an intruder entered the station behind me. They shot technician Vincent Clark, a recent graduate from Georgetown before turning the gun on Navy Commander Walter Daniels and host Adam Gator. Commander Daniels was appearing on the show to provide insight into foreign military policy.” Julia reported. “Virginia State police responded to 911 calls following the on-air shots and discovered the bodies of all three men.”

“Do we know if terrorists were behind the shooting?” asked Bill from the comfortable studio.

“Federal agents are investigating and they released a press statement this afternoon which states that attention is being focused on a threat that Adam Gator himself mentioned just prior to his murder here at the station behind me.” Julia said sombrely. “He said and I quote, ‘I want to address a very disturbing threat that I received from a group of fans; whack-pots who don’t know the difference between patriotism and terrorism.’ Immediately after these words were spoken, his life was cut short. It’s disturbing, Bill.”

The camera swapped back to the studio.

“Disturbing indeed; thank you, Julia.” Bill looked directly down the camera. “We will of course continue updating you as more information becomes available. Let’s go now to the weather…”

John flicked over to the sports channel, grimaced at the sight of gymnastics and switched instead to an old rerun of Star Trek. He settled back with his take-out and watched Captain Kirk flirting badly with a half-dressed woman.

Not that John could talk; he’d always characterise his own flirting as bad regardless of whether it was a man or a woman. He sometimes blamed his marriage to Nancy on his own aversion to flirting with anybody else, and he hadn’t actually realised Lyle had been flirting until he’d kissed John.

The memory had John reaching for his beer. He took a long gulp and pushed thoughts of Lyle out of his head.

It had been a long and boring day, John told himself. Hours and hours of paperwork to ensure the case against Kirby Leyton was watertight was bound to make anyone melancholy.

He swallowed some more chicken and tried to follow the action on screen.

His phone beeped. He snagged it out of his jacket pocket and looked at it.

“Brent had to take an early meeting with his boss. He wants to meet on Thursday, say sorry. Can you come out for dinner?”

He grimaced. He could think of better things to do with his Thursday night but he wasn’t going to let Nancy down.

“Sure. Thurs. Text me the details.” John texted back.

A smiley face was his reply.

John shook his head, set his phone down and picked his dinner back up. On screen Kirk had progressed to kissing the scantily clad alien.

A loud knock on the apartment door surprised him. He set his dinner down and hurried over to look through the peephole. Maybe Tony wanted some company…

He sighed heavily as he caught sight of his sister. He rested his forehead against the wood briefly before he took a step back and opened the door.

“Emily.” John began as she bounded into the room.

“John!” Emily pushed her way in and it only took one look at the relentless energy she was exuding as she flung her coat over his to be reminded again of the fifteen years between them.

John shut the door and sighed as Emily toed off her sneakers and threw herself on the sofa. She started eating what was left of John’s dinner.

“Don’t mind me. Help yourself.” He said dryly.

“Sorry,” Emily licked her lips free of the sticky sauce. “You don’t mind, do you? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” She tucked her legs clad in black yoga pants into a lotus position that made John ache just looking at it.

John sat down beside her and reached into the take-out bag. He opened up the carton of shrimp chow mien he had thought he was going to save for another night. He grabbed his beer before Emily could reach it.

She glared at him.

“You know where the beer is.” John said. “Go get your own.”

Emily bounded away and returned gulping down beer. She swiped at her mouth and sat back down to finish the chicken, pushing the sleeves of her oversized shirt up to her elbows. “Star Trek? Really? You’re supposed to be the cool brother!”

“I am cool.” John got to the remote before she did and placed it beside him out of her reach. “And not that this visit isn’t great, but what are you doing here? I thought you were doing night shifts for the next couple of months.”

“I am.” Emily said. “Can I just say being a junior doctor in the ER sucks?” She waved the chopsticks at him. “I have a night off.”

“And you came here?” John pointed his chopsticks at her.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised.” Emily complained.

He looked at her challengingly.

“OK,” Emily caved, pushing a strand of her dark hair back behind her ear, “so Mom called me.”

John rolled his eyes and drank more beer.

“She said you had plans for Saturday…” Emily batted her dark eyes at him. “Come on, spill!”

“There is nothing to spill.” John said firmly. “I’m just getting together with one of my neighbours to watch some football.”

Emily’s gaze narrowed. “You mean the hot neighbour you’ve been mooning about ever since you moved in here?”

“I have not been mooning!” John protested.

“Mooning.” Emily repeated stabbing her chopsticks at him.

John did the only sensible thing he could; he drank down the rest of his beer.

Emily looked over at him speculatively. “So are you going to close the deal Saturday?”

John choked on his beer. He slapped his chest a couple of times. “Close the deal?!” He spluttered. “Where do you even…” he coughed again.

Emily rolled her eyes expressively. “You don’t still think I’m a virgin, do you?”

John closed his eyes. “Yes. You are.”

She poked him in the ribs. “You are such a baby.”

John opened his eyes. “How is Alfie?” Not that he was all that interested in her latest boyfriend but it was better than talking about his sister’s virginity.

Emily wrinkled her nose and pushed up her sleeves again. “Over, like days ago.” She gestured with her beer. “I’m seeing Tom now.”

“Isn’t he Alfie’s brother?”

“Cousin.”

John sighed and rubbed at the side of his head. He was getting a headache.

“So,” Emily said brightly, “I can see why you turned down Mom’s lame attempt at matchmaking if you have a date lined up with Tony.” She grinned at him and set the empty carton down. “He’s hot.”

“It’s football.” John stated firmly.

Emily sighed and pointed her bottle at him. “That’s just pathetic. You need to get laid.”

“Is that your medical assessment?” John shot back.

Emily’s gaze swept over him in sudden terrifying deliberation. “Actually,” she said slowly, “it might be. You look like crap.”

John set his own carton aside. There was a good half of it left. “Bad case.”

Emily closed the distance between them and cuddled into his side. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.” John relaxed as her genuine care and affection sent a rush of warmth through him. He tentatively hugged her closer.

Somehow Emily had missed the Sheppard gene which made them almost allergic to physical affection. Even as a small child she’d just ignore the panic from the rest of the family as she demanded cuddles; demanded to be picked up and held.

“If it makes you feel better Mom tried hooking me up with the new R&D hire too.” Emily offered.

John frowned. “So they’re bi?”

“Hmmm.” Emily shrugged. “I don’t think she knows. I think she was planning to invite the poor schmuck to dinner and see which one of us they batted their eyelashes at the most.”

John laughed out loud at that because he could see their mother doing exactly that. “I feel better.”

“Good, because I need your help.” Emily sighed. “Dad gave me the disappointed face when I went over the other day.”

“Dad adores you.” John said. If there was one thing he knew for certain it was that Emily Alison Sheppard was the light of Patrick Sheppard’s life.

“He hates Tom.” Emily murmured, twisting John’s tie between her fingers.

“He hates all your boyfriends.” John pointed out. “You’re his daughter. He’s kind of obliged to hate your boyfriends and meet them at the door with his shotgun.”

“I really like Tom.” Emily sighed. “I just wish one time Dad would, you know, bend.”

“You’re talking with the wrong brother if you want advice about how to get Dad onside.” John commented, rubbing her back. “You know he hints I should get back together with Nancy every time I’m over there.”

His Dad had never really accepted that John was gay. If it hadn’t been for his Mom, John figured he and his father would have stopped speaking years before.

Emily hugged him tighter for a moment. “Dave kind of did walk away with all the good behaviour genes didn’t he?”

John hummed his agreement. Dave was the only one of them who had gone into the business; who was happily married with adorable kids.

“Can I stay over?” Emily asked. “We can have ice-cream and watch old movies.”

“Sure.” John squeezed her gently. “Sounds good.”

Emily squeezed back a second before she scrambled away and headed to the kitchen for the ice-cream.

John rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. He really just wanted an early night but…but he’d never been able to say no to his little sister and it looked like that night wasn’t going to be the night when he started.

o-O-o

John checked through the document for spelling one last time and signed his name at the bottom of the report. It was the last report on the Corn Killer and John was more than happy to have it finished. He’d promised himself an early finish; Dave had texted that morning and asked him to swing by the golf club to do some practice putting on the driving range.

He paused as he passed Charlie’s main monitor. It was filled with a picture of first response vehicles crowded along a picturesque suburban setting. “What’s going on?”

“Some kind of bomb went off in Royal Woods a couple of hours ago.” Charlie said, not looking up from his laptop screen where he was writing some kind of computer code. “They think it might be linked with the shooting of that radio guy yesterday.”

John grimaced. A bomb suggested a terrorist connection. He shook himself and got moving. He hadn’t run into Tony that morning but then John had been late since he’d had to share the bathroom with his sister and figure out breakfast for the both of them. He had a feeling his mother wouldn’t have considered the stale pop tarts they’d had as acceptable. He knocked briskly on Pam’s door and poked his head inside. He lifted the file in lieu of explaining why he needed a minute.

She waved him in and took the file off him with a smile. “Thank you. I can submit all the paperwork now and we are done.”

“Until we have to testify.” John pointed out.

Pam grimaced. She hated testifying and it wasn’t John’s favourite part of the job either. “And thank you for bringing my mood down.”

“I live to serve.” John quipped. “I’m going for lunch; you want anything?”

“It’s that time already?” Pam winced as she checked her watch. “Sandwich and soda would be great. Thanks, John.”

John gave her a sloppy salute and headed out. He didn’t bother asking Charlie if he wanted anything; he always grabbed something for Charlie since if it wasn’t for John supplying him with food Charlie would waste away.                                                                             

The cafeteria was bustling with people. It still surprised him just how many people actually worked in the Hoover building. He slid an array of sandwiches onto the tray along with a tub of fruit he knew Pam would like. He grabbed Coke, Sprite and a bottle of water for himself. He headed over to the hot counter and pointed at the least objectionable thing; something that purported to be poached chicken in a white wine and mushroom sauce. He added a spoonful of veg and rice before making his way over to the line to pay.

He stopped behind a familiar form and gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Hey, Ron.”

“John.” Ronald Sacks gave him an answering nod. “Good work on the Corn Killer.”

John tilted his head. “Thought you’d transferred out to Saint Louis.”

“I have.” Ron said. “I’m here for training; Leadership in Ensuring Inter-Agency Cooperation.” He snorted and shook his head even as he showed a single sandwich, chocolate bar and soda to the teller and handed over his card.

In other words; Ron figured it was a load of bullshit.

John gave a sympathetic grimace. He hadn’t hated the course but then he usually didn’t mind working with other agencies. Rebecca usually did the initial liaison role when they had to work with LEOs or another agency and by the time John had to speak to them she had them eating out of her perfectly manicured hand.

“Hey, you around to spar later?” Ron asked as John slid his tray up to the teller who looked at the amount of food askance despite John usually buying for at least himself and Charlie every day they were at the office.

“Heading to the golf club to meet my brother.” John said, pulling a small face. First Emily, then Dave…his Mom was going all out to discover his weekend plans. “Donnelly might be up for it.”

“Yeah, let him know I’ll be in the gym later if he is.” Ron waved John off as they split up, heading in different directions.

John’s team liked the far corner by the kitchen doors and he headed for their usual booth, easily navigating through the mess of tables and chairs. He slid into the left side of the booth by Rebecca and Ruben, opposite Frankie and Donnelly.

Donnelly acknowledged his presence by gesturing with a ketchup soaked French fry.

“Ron Sacks says he’ll be in the gym later if you want to spar.” John informed him briskly as he picked up his cutlery and started to tackle the chicken.

Donnelly’s expression brightened. He swallowed hurriedly. “I might just take him up on that.”

“I thought he’d transferred.” Rebecca commented, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin. She had a half-eaten Caesar salad in front of her.

“Leadership in Inter-Agency Cooperation.” John replied.

“I liked that course.” Rebecca said. “It had some interesting theory.”

John lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug and looked enviously at the burger Ruben was chowing down on. He cut into his chicken with a little more force.

“Sacks has had to retake it twice.” Frankie said around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Twice?” Rebecca frowned. “The exam isn’t that difficult.”

“He’s had complaints from other agencies.” Frankie said.

“How do you know this?” Ruben asked, gesturing with his burger.

“I dated Chad Dorrick last year.” Frankie said. “He was tech support for Agent Fornell’s team a couple of years ago when Sacks was assigned as Fornell’s Senior Agent. Chad?” She licked a thumb. “Very bitter. Says Sacks got all of them reprimanded after they almost jailed some NCIS agent for murder.”

The NCIS agent being Tony.

John knew the story because Tony had told it to him one weekend while they watched Michigan play Ole Miss.

He hadn’t put the puzzle of Tony’s Agent Slacks and Ron Sacks being on Fornell’s team together before but it was all beginning to make more sense to him. He couldn’t blame Tony for being sore at Ron. It sounded from Tony’s perspective that some basic investigating about the body had been missed which should have been done way before they got to the point of arresting him.

“It was a sloppy case.” Donnelly said almost echoing John’s thoughts. “It made us all look bad.”

“Chad says the evidence was pretty compelling.” Frankie argued. “I mean, you have a fingerprint, teeth marks? That kind of forensics is enough to put most suspects away.”

“They had no body.” Donnelly retorted, dragging another fry through the river of ketchup on his plate. “We were lucky that NCIS guy didn’t sue us.”

Rebecca nodded as she carefully pushed lettuce leaves onto her fork. “He certainly had cause.”

“You know I think that case is being used in the Academy as a what-not-to-do.” Ruben commented wryly. “Sounds familiar anyway.”

John battled through his chicken and gestured vaguely around the table. “Reports are done. I’ve booked us some range time this afternoon to practice our shooting.”

“How are you proposing getting Charlie away from his computer?” Rebecca asked amused.

“Same way as always.” John replied.

“Bribery and corruption.” Donnelly quipped.

John soaked up the laughter of his team and let his remaining tension about the Corn Killer case dissolve into nothingness. It was time to move onto the next case.

o-O-o

John watched intently as his brother lined up his shot.

Dave smiled smugly at him when the ball travelled with unerring accuracy into the hole. “That’s ten to eight.”

“Only because you cheated.” John pointed at him with his golf club. “Yelling ‘Mom’ just as I’m about to hit the ball isn’t sporting you know, Dave.”

Dave just grinned at him. “Worked as a distraction, didn’t it?”

John huffed. “You’re just smug because you’re married to Holly and Mom can’t set you up with random people.”

“I admit it.” Dave said cheerfully as they packed up and made to head back to the club house. “And you owe me a drink.”

John sighed but nodded in agreement. “I assume you know the new R&D head?”

“Actually, no.” Dave shook his head. “I was overseas at that global energy convention when Dad made the hire. I haven’t even met them yet.”

John heard the note of disgruntlement and made a sympathetic noise. No matter that David had taken over as CEO after their Dad’s heart attack a couple of years before, their Dad still liked to interfere.

“Highly recommended though and supposed to be a genius.” Dave continued. “Dad thinks they can give us some traction in clean energy. We need to get ahead of the game.”

John made a non-distinct sound which might have been agreement as they entered the club house. They both took a moment to stow their clubs and visit the men’s room before heading to the bar. John ordered a soda water with lime and a light beer for his brother. They were both driving and hard liquor was out.

There was a television screen to the far left and John watched for a moment while the bartender got their drinks together. The reporter was standing outside the gates of the residential area which had been bombed. He frowned as the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen noted there had been four casualties in the bombing.

Dave followed his gaze. “You know Holly and I looked around there before we bought our place. It seemed like a nice neighbourhood. I guess it was too good a target.”

John nodded. “Maybe.”

It wasn’t a typical target for terrorists though. They generally preferred a target that would either draw a more substantial kill rate or take out someone of importance. Royal Woods might be an affluent residential community but he wasn’t aware of anyone of any strategic importance living there. It didn’t make sense.  

The bartender arrived with their drinks diverting their attention away from the television. John handed over cash, waving away the change with a quick gesture. They picked up their glasses and settled in a private booth at the back.

“So, Mom was pretty insistent I talk with you.” Dave commented, regarding John with a curious stare.

John shrugged. “I don’t know why.”

“She’s worried about you.” Dave supplied. “Actually so am I. It wasn’t until she called that I realised you hadn’t mentioned anyone in a serious way since you moved back to Washington. That’s two years now, John.”

John avoided Dave’s questioning eyes and focused on the condensation on his own glass.

“And before that,” Dave continued when John remained silent, “I think you might have mentioned a Gerald once when I overheard you talking with Nancy at Christmas a few years back? Maybe a Max just after you got out of the Air Force?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear about my relationships.” John said a touch defensively, and resolutely ignored the fact that there hadn’t been too many to talk about.

Dave held up a hand. He shifted position, dropping his gaze for a moment before he seemed to rally and looked back at John again. “I know I wasn’t exactly…supportive when you, uh, came out.”

John’s lips twisted. Dave had stopped talking to him for a year outside of family events where he had to be in the same room as him. Luckily John had been based out on the West coast at the time.

“But I’ve never…I just want you to be as happy as I am I guess.” Dave said.

It was sincere and heartfelt and John had no idea what to do with it. He drank some of his soda.

“So, if there is someone,” Dave said, moving the conversation on much to John’s relief, “I’d be OK with you bringing them round; talking to me about them.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” John stated firmly, thumbing a line of moisture off the glass.

“Then you don’t have plans for Saturday?” asked Dave pointedly.

John shot him a quick look of displeasure at his digging but he caved under Dave’s answering lift of eyebrows. “I have plans with a neighbour, a friend; pizza, beer and football. We get together every now and again.”

Dave’s brow creased and he took a quick gulp of beer. “Is this the really hot neighbour Emily keeps talking about?”

John rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “Why didn’t we kill her when we were kids?”

“Because she would have kicked both of our asses if we’d tried.” Dave replied with a laugh. “And don’t think that gets you out of answering my question.”

John replied with a single fingered gesture.

Dave tsked, his eyes twinkling. “That’s not using your words, Johnny.”

The phrase was one their mother often used to chide them when they’d settled for wrestling and fighting rather than talking out their irritation with each other.

“So, I’m guessing it is the hot neighbour and you really like him since you’re determined not to say anything.” Dave sipped his beer.

“I like him.” John allowed. “But I don’t know if he’s…interested.”

“Only one way to find out.” Dave said, putting his beer down.

“So Nancy’s already told me which is why I promised her I’d ask him out.” John tilted his glass in Dave’s direction. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

“God, yes.” Dave agreed.

“How’s Holly?” John asked, changing the subject without a hint of guilt.

“Craving peanut butter.” Dave smiled; it lit up his whole face. “It’s better than the chilli sauce she craved with Nick or the liver and onions with Ally.”

They both subtly shuddered.

“It’s not long to go now.” John commented. “Two months?”

“Just under.” Dave said. “I’m not looking forward to the sleepless nights but it’ll be good to have a baby around again.”

“Let me know if you need me to take Nick and Ally off your hands more.” John offered.

“Thanks,” Dave said, toasting John with what was left of his drink. “I appreciate it.” He took a sip of his beer. “Hey, did you hear Emily had broken up with Alfie?”

“I heard.” John said. “She’s going out with his cousin Tom.”

“Did you…”

“He’s got a clean record.” John supplied. “Architect, works for a firm downtown. He actually seems solvent.”

“That makes a change.” Dave said. “You think she could be serious about him?”

“Wanted advice on how to make Dad like him.” John gulped some of his water.

Dave grimaced. “She does get that Dad is never going to like anyone she brings home, right?”

John shrugged.

Dave’s phone buzzed. He looked at it with a frown. “Well, got to go. Holly needs me to pick up some more peanut butter on the way home.”

John slid out of the booth to give Dave a manly quick hug and slap on the back.

“Same time next week?” Dave asked, already taking a step away.

“If I don’t pick up a case.” John agreed. Golf had always been the one thing Dave and he had been able to bond over. Well, that and the female members of their family. They were both deeply protective over their mother and sister, partially because they’d almost lost both of them in a car crash when Emily was just a baby. David had grabbed Emily, and John had managed to drag his mother out of the car before it blew.

John drank down the rest of his soda and checked the time. It was early and all he had waiting for him at his apartment was a lonely half-carton of shrimp. Emily had also cleaned him out of beer and pop tarts. He decided he might as well have an early dinner at the club and wandered over to the bar to give his order of a steak and fries. He ignored his conscience complaining about the red meat and lack of vegetables; he’d suffered through the chicken for lunch, he damn well deserved the steak.

He sat back down near the television and picked up a newspaper. He quickly found the Sudoku puzzle at the back and settled in.

The steak arrived, medium rare and succulent. The accompanying onion rings and fries were tasty. He half-regretted not getting a light beer for himself but the team was back on rotation and it was wiser to stick with soda. He finished a second puzzle while he considered whether he wanted to hang around for dessert.

“Hey, turn the TV up!” A voice called from the bar.

The volume rose on the television and John got to his feet; it was time to head home.

He wandered back to the bar to settle his bill, only half-listening to the news report, recognising the reporter as the one who had covered the shooting the night before.

“…an urban military group calling themselves Military At Home has this evening taken responsibility for the explosion here at the Royal Woods residential community; their goal? To highlight the need for military protection here in America.” Julia said formally.

“Do we know anything about this group?” Bill in the studio asked.

“No, we do not, Bill, although it is suspected that they are the group Adam Gator was going to expose on his show before he was shot to death.” Julia commented. “The group have not taken responsibility for that shooting in the brief statement delivered to the television station tonight.”

“What’s the damage?” Bill asked, prompting the reporter again.

“The explosion completely destroyed the home of one resident whose name is yet to be released. We understand a young girl who had to be pulled from the wreckage and a federal agent are tonight in critical condition following the explosion. We know others sustained minor injuries and there was some additional damage done to nearby homes. Residents have been evacuated while bomb disposal experts search for any further explosives. Back to you in the studio, Bill.”

A portly man by John’s right grunted. “Just what we need. Some homegrown bozos blowing us up! What next?”

John offered a sympathetic smile but took his credit card back from the bartender and ambled away. He paused outside taking in a deep breath of air.

He took out his phone and thumbed to his contacts. Anthony DiNozzo’s picture grinned up at him. John’s thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before he exited out of contacts and set the phone to vibrate.

He almost jumped when it immediately vibrated.

John answered the phone and beeped his car open. He slid into the driver’s seat. “Sheppard.”

“John, I need you to come back to the office; we’ve been given the bombing at Royal Woods.” Pam said briskly.

John frowned heavily, rubbing his thumb over his forehead a couple of times. “I’ll be there in twenty.” He started the engine. “You need me to call in the others?”

“Already on it.” Pam replied. “Drive safe.”

John disconnected the call. It was time to go to work.

o-O-o

Rebecca stepped into the elevator just as the doors were about to close. She smiled a hello at John. “Did you manage to get dinner?”

“Just ate.” John said. “You?”

“I had a date.” Rebecca said ruefully, tossing her hair back.

It explained the very nice outfit of high heels, black velveteen jacket and pants with a sheer black blouse which had strategic lacy panels on the front. She made him feel positively underdressed in his short black leather bomber jacket, black jeans and t-shirt.

“I’ll change when I get upstairs.” Rebecca sighed. “It’s a shame; I actually was enjoying myself.”

“Nice guy?” inquired John.

“Very nice girl.” Rebecca returned with a sheepish smile.

John blinked. He hadn’t realised…but then why should he? He smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“I know.” Rebecca said. “I just didn’t want to be dishonest with you.”

“I appreciate that.” John said awkwardly. He wondered whether she was waiting for a reciprocal announcement of his own sexuality but just as he gave thought to the possibility she was, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open on their floor.

Somehow John wasn’t surprised to see Charlie already there. He suspected the computer specialist hadn’t actually gone home. Rebecca hurried over to her desk while John headed into Pam’s office.

Pam was still wearing the power red pantsuit she’d had on earlier that day signalling she hadn’t managed to get home either before the case had hit. She was bent over her computer, rapidly transcribing something onto a legal pad.

“Hey.” John said quietly.

Pam glanced up at him and waved him in. She pushed a file at him even while she continued to write. “This is going to be a political shit-storm, John.”

Domestic terrorism and injured federal agents?

Political shit-storm was right.

The phone rang loudly in the small space and Pam picked up immediately.

“Yes, sir.” Pam replied. “We’re on our way up now.” She set the phone down and pushed her chair back. She smoothed down her crisp white shirt. “Director Cross is going to brief us.”

John flipped the file shut and waited for her to exit before he followed. He handed the file to an arriving Donnelly. “Get the others organised. Pam and I will be back down to brief them shortly.”

He didn’t wait for Donnelly to nod his agreement. He followed Pam into an elevator.

“The bombing was all over the news this evening.” John commented.

“It’s not just that.” Pam said. “From what I can make out from the little information I got, the NCIS investigation went FUBAR. Two of their people are in the hospital; one of them with serious injuries. One civilian is dead; another, a sixteen years old girl, seriously injured.”

John’s concern deepened and his want to call and check on Tony ate at him as they stepped out into the lush carpet that covered the upper floors. He wished he’d given into his urge to call the other man earlier, but then he didn’t even know if Tony’s team had been the one to get the case.

Pam made her way confidently down the corridor to the Director’s outer office. One of his executive secretaries was behind the desk and she held up a hand as she rang through to announce them.

Pam swept into the office and John followed in her wake, smoothing his expression and hoping he looked at least somewhat professional. He almost stumbled at the sight of four of Washington’s most powerful men.

FBI Director Colin Cross was a six foot, burly with a barrel chest and a bulbous nose. He carried himself well. His white hair gave him an air of seniority and authority. A former field agent he’d always come across to John as blindingly intelligent and competent.

The silver-haired Secretary of Defence, Jack O’Neill was something of a legend. A former Air Force Colonel, he had lost his wife and son in a bank robbery which had led to a surprising political career as he had tried to get tougher criminal laws in place. He had been a shock appointment by the President but had quickly gained a lot of respect from the troops on the ground and a lot of political respect on the Hill. He was surprisingly in jeans and an old shirt thrown over a grey t-shirt rather than a suit.

The third man, Tom Morrow, also had a lot of political weight to throw around since he was the Director of Homeland Security. John had met him a couple of times when he’d accompanied Nancy to various Homeland functions. Morrow kept his thinning hair trimmed short; his sturdy figure was encased in a well-tailored suit. He was a dignified and solid man.

The Secretary of the Navy, Philip Davenport, was completely bald. He was dressed in an extremely expensive suit, and held an uncut cigar in one hand as though it was a talisman. His unhappy expression gave away his discomfort at the meeting and his eyes only lit up with interest as he took in John’s last name, correctly making the connection to Sheppard Utilities and John’s father.

John shook hands quickly as Cross made the introductions and took the seat he was directed to without complaint.

“Thank you for responding so quickly, Special Agent Bellows, Special Agent Sheppard.” Cross was relatively new to the job, having only been appointed a month before. John knew Cross had been a good agent and understood the challenges of being out in the field more than some of his predecessors.

“Not a problem, Director.” Pam said folding her hands neatly on the shiny wooden surface of the table.

“Your unit chief and management line know you’ve been specially assigned to work this case.” Cross said bluntly. “Your reports and findings will come directly to me until this case is closed.”

“Understood, sir.” Pam said politely.

Cross nodded and gestured across the table to Davenport. “Philip. Please read my agents in.”

Davenport sighed and held out the cigar. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could light this.”

“Stop stalling, Phil, and man-up.” O’Neill ordered impatiently.

Davenport set the cigar aside and looked over at Pam, ignoring John. It suited John. It gave him the opportunity to observe Davenport; to notice the faint white stress lines that bracketed his mouth, the nervous twitching in his fingers and the beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Yesterday morning, NCIS were called to the site of a triple homicide in Virginia.” Davenport began. “The Major Case Response team were sent to investigate because one of the dead was a Navy Commander out of the Office of Public Affairs. The MCRT for those of you who may be unaware is led by Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs.” He coughed and Cross obligingly poured him some water, handing him the glass.

John took the moment to absorb that his and Tony’s professional lives were about to collide for the first time.

Davenport lifted it in silent thanks before taking a sip. “The team focused on a threat mentioned by the host, Gator, just before he was killed. Gator had luckily recorded all his calls. They tracked down a call to Gator made the day before which originated in Royal Woods. All they needed was something which could be used for comparative identification.”

O’Neill’s fingers were starting to tap on the top of the table.

“The MCRT went out early this morning to gain voice samples…” He trailed away.

“And that’s where things go kablooey.” O’Neill jumped in. He shifted to face them fully. “What we know is that Special Agent DiNozzo had a live wire…”

John tensed at the mention of Tony and he forced himself to focus.

“…which recorded the voice samples he got by talking with the residents who live there. According to the recording, he was knocked out and captured by members of this Military At Home group outside the home of Arthur Haskell.”

Pam and John exchanged a concerned look. John felt a flutter of horror curdle in his stomach.

“His back-up?” asked Pam.

Davenport grimaced.

“Well, that’s where things go from kablooey to fucked up.” O’Neill answered. “His fellow agents did not respond immediately when DiNozzo went silent.”

That didn’t sound like the Gibbs Tony had talked about, John thought.

“When the forensic technician analysing the tape realised the two hours gap between DiNozzo running into trouble and his back-up responding, he contacted my office.” O’Neill continued. “DiNozzo’s missing; taken as a hostage.”

The flutter of horror turned into a knot inside John. He breathed in and out slowly. Tony was still alive and no matter how attracted John was to him, he had a job to do. He had to focus on that.

O’Neill’s fierce brown gaze landed on him suddenly. “Sheppard?”

John lifted a hand as though to wave away O’Neill’s concern and abruptly stopped; he had a gut feeling full disclosure was the way to go with O’Neill. “I’m acquainted with Special Agent DiNozzo. We’re neighbours; friends.”

O’Neill grimaced but held his gaze sternly. “Can you stay objective?”

“Yes, sir.” John said crisply.

O’Neill looked at John for a long moment. John tried not to hold his breath as O’Neill clearly deliberated over whether to keep him on the case.

“Might I suggest this is a different situation to Agent Fornell, Mister Secretary.” Cross murmured. “Agent Sheppard and Agent DiNozzo do not share an ex-wife or a history of interacting on a professional basis.”

“This is a goddamned small world.” O’Neill complained with a hefty sigh. He gestured at John. “You stay on but you’d better not let me down, Sheppard.”

“I won’t, sir.” John replied seriously. And he wouldn’t. He’d get to the bottom of it if for no other reason than to find Tony. He had to believe that Tony would survive.

O’Neill motioned at Davenport.

“As Secretary O’Neill indicates, we know a lot of what happened thanks to the live wire DiNozzo was wearing.” Davenport said. “Specifically we know a member of the Military At Home team recognised and subdued him when he was talking to Haskell; they carried him into the Haskell house. They were joined by a third man and it was determined to set the bomb they had acquired off immediately using a barbeque.”

O’Neill picked up. “Haskell’s daughter interrupted them. It turned into an argument. Haskell and his daughter were tied up and left in the garage with the bomb. Luckily for DiNozzo, as we said, they decided to keep him as insurance and removed him from the house. The tape had sounds of DiNozzo being transported and then nothing; it’s assumed he’s been taken out of range of the wire’s transmission.”

“Haskell was killed in the bombing which occurred later. Kirsten Haskell sustained serious injuries and has spent most of today in surgery. Both of the other NCIS agents sustained injuries and have been hospitalised.” Davenport sighed heavily.

“We need answers.” O’Neill said succinctly, stabbing a finger onto the table. “Which is where you come in.”

John frowned as he went over the information they’d been given. “You said Agent DiNozzo is still wearing a live wire?”

O’Neill gave him an approving look. “There’s a recording of everything and I’ve had someone constantly monitoring the frequency. If he wakes up and can get in range to transmit, he may be able to lead us straight to these morons.”

“You said the other NCIS agents were hospitalised?” Pam asked, her dark eyes bright with intelligence.

“Yes.” Davenport answered. “Agents McGee and David got caught in the explosion. McGee’s in a bad way, he sustained severe burns, a number of breaks and is currently undergoing surgery; David has minor injuries.”

John frowned. Tony always talked affectionately about both of them when he shared stories.

Well.

To be fair there had been the night when Tony had come home from a bad case and they’d both drunk too much, exchanging stories of the worst situations they’d found themselves in. John had shared a couple of his own stories – not Lyle never Lyle – but what had happened with Mitch and Dex…

But Tony had shared being dragged to Israel to answer for the death of one of their agents to the Director of Mossad. Hadn’t there been something about Ziva and being threatened and just…John wished he could remember the details because if both of Tony’s team-mates had been injured in the explosion it suggested they’d gone to investigate long after the bomb had been set and Tony captured.

It begged the question of why they hadn’t immediately investigated why Tony was silent, John thought, suspicion crystalizing sharply.

Pam frowned. “And Agent Gibbs?”

“Back at base coordinating efforts there with Forensics and Autopsy.” Davenport recited neatly. “He also had a call scheduled in MTAC with an agent on an ongoing operation abroad this morning which would have precluded him being out in the field.”

“No check-ins were done between the agents in the field and Agent Gibbs?” Pam asked.

“None to our knowledge.” Davenport answered.

“What do we know about Military At Home?” asked Pam, leaning forward.

“Absolutely nothing.” Morrow was the one to reply. “Agent DiNozzo formally contacted Homeland this morning to ask if there was chatter about the initials MAH. The only link we could offer was that it stood for a policy lobby group, Military At Home.”

“He also contacted us through the usual channels; we told him the same and that, essentially, these lobbyists want us spending money here in America rather than policing the world.” Cross added. “Until today there was no documented suspicion that the movement was shifting from lobbying to violence.”

“Your orders are threefold,” O’Neill spoke up, drawing their attention, “firstly, I want Agent DiNozzo found and recovered ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.” Pam and John replied in unison.

John couldn’t help the small flicker of relief that fluttered through him at the order. He kept a lid on his memories; it wasn’t the time to think of different orders and Lyle behind enemy lines.

“That’s your first priority.” O’Neill continued. “Secondly, I want every single member of Military At Home who was responsible for that explosion today and presumably for murdering those three people yesterday rounded up and brought to account.”

“And thirdly, Mister Secretary?” Pam prompted.

“Thirdly,” O’Neill stated brusquely, “I want to know what the hell went on in the field with NCIS today and whether any charges should be pending to any of the individuals involved.” He looked at John directly, a challenge in his eyes.

John gave a short nod. He’d have to investigate Tony but he could do that. Sure, he didn’t think there was anything to find but he’d keep an open mind.

“Homeland will extend every courtesy to you.” Morrow said. “I was going to assign Nancy as liaison, John, but if you would rather I didn’t…”

“Nancy will be fine, Director.” John replied quickly.

“You’re also getting assigned a bunch of Marines.” O’Neill said. “Captain Cadman is an explosives specialist and Captain Ford has been assigned to coordinate the protective detail for those hospitalised. I’ll have my aide, Major Paul Davis, liaise with you. He’ll also provide you with the confiscated recording and the frequency to monitor.”

John reflected that it really was a small world. He and Davis had served together; Davis in an operational support role to the special ops team but a vital one.

“Agent Bellows,” Davenport cleared his throat, “I will be going directly from here to NCIS to inform Director Vance and Agent Gibbs of the appointment of your team; I’d like you to come with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Pam agreed, realising it wasn’t a request. “Agent Sheppard can brief our team here.”

“You’re OK going to NCIS?” questioned O’Neill.

Pam met his gaze without flinching. “I’ve found that agencies such as NCIS are generally more cooperative on their home turf when we get brought in.”

Davenport snorted. “You haven’t met Gibbs, have you?”

And with that the meeting was over.

o-O-o

Paul Davis hadn’t changed one iota. He still looked like the poster boy for the perfect Air Force officer. His blues were neatly pressed, with an impressive array of medals; his shoes shining with polish. His cover was neatly tucked under one arm. He shook John’s hand warmly.

“It’s good to see you again, John, despite the circumstances.” Paul offered quietly as the brass around them took their leave.

Pam gave John a brief nod goodbye as she fell in-step with the Secretary of the Navy.

“It’s good to see you too.” John said, half-noticing O’Neill giving them a speculative glance. “You have a tape for us.”

Paul picked up the file box on the desk next to him. “And a few other things.”

John directed him to the elevators and they took the next available one. He waited until the doors were closed. “What can you tell me?”

“FUBAR doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Paul blew out a breath. “O’Neill is furious. He’s tough but fair usually; a straight shooter. As far as he’s concerned Military At Home came out of nowhere today and he thinks Homeland, the FBI and especially NCIS who was on point dropped the ball.”

“What do you think?” asked John bluntly.

Paul sighed heavily. “I think he’s not wrong.”

Which wasn’t the same thing as being right. John had to admire the political skill in the way Paul had expressed himself.

“What is concerning,” Paul said, “is that the Secretary’s office was contacted when the recording was analysed because the forensic technician was certain if he escalated within NCIS the breach of protocol, which seems evident from the recording, would be swept under the rug. He’s part-time; he doesn’t normally work with the MCRT.”

John gave a slow nod. He knew from Tony’s stories that the usual forensic scientist was Abby Scuito, a happy Goth. He wanted to know why the stand-in had called in outside help; why Tony’s back-up hadn’t responded too.

“That said, O’Neill isn’t interested in a witch-hunt.” Paul assured him. “He wants the truth not a scapegoat. He definitely wants DiNozzo back safe and sound. He firmly believes in the notion you don’t leave a man behind.”

“Good to know.” John murmured.

The elevator opened up at John’s floor and he stepped out leading the way to the team’s area. He gave a pleased nod to see them all already congregated around the open conference table they used for briefings.

John introduced Paul briskly. He wasn’t surprised when Charlie stared at the Air Force officer with suspicion or when Rebecca gave John an assessing look when he admitted he and Paul had served together before.

He waved Paul into a seat but kept standing as he filled in the team on the facts he and Pam had gotten from their meeting.

“We need to divide our focus.” John said. The strategy for the investigation had solidified with every word he’d spoken. “Charlie, I want you working on that recording and monitoring DiNozzo’s frequency. I want the recording copied and protected every way we can. I want a full transcript of everything that went down so we can validate what we’ve been told. And see if you can find a way for us to pick up the wire transmission somehow.”

Charlie nodded and Paul solemnly opened the file box and extracted a thumb drive. He handed it to Charlie with solemn ceremony. Charlie immediately headed for his computer.

“Rebecca, I need you at the hospital.” John said.

Rebecca nodded swiftly. She knew without being told her job was to interview everyone who’d been involved with the blast.

“Ruben; you’re with her.” John ordered. He glanced at Paul.

“I’ll go with them and introduce them to Captain Ford.” Paul offered immediately. He reached back into the file box and pulled out a stack of files. “Here’s everything NCIS had found and documented up to the point of the explosion, and copies of the personnel files for the agents involved. The physical evidence has been logged into the FBI evidentiary locker. We didn’t remove the bodies from NCIS custody but we can arrange that if necessary.”

“Donnelly, take the personnel files; you’re coming to NCIS with me.” John said. “Rebecca, do you need McGee’s and David’s?”

“No.” Rebecca shook her head. “I’ll go in cold.”

Donnelly nodded and reached across to take the proffered files from Paul.

“When’s Captain Cadman due to arrive?” John asked Paul.

“Captain Cadman’s at Royal Woods; she has orders to come directly here when she’s finished her examination.” Paul said.

“Frankie,” John waved at her, “go through the rest of the files and the physical evidence. Liaise with Cadman when she gets here. Everything there is to know about the NCIS investigation and Military At Home; I need you to find it.”

He’d have to make a judgement call about the bodies but Tony had talked fondly of the very knowledgeable NCIS Medical Examiner so his first instinct was to leave them where they were.

Frankie gave him a smart salute and blew a large pink bubble that snapped.

“Let’s go.” John said.

They all rode down in the elevator together. Rebecca directed Paul and Ruben to an agency car while John headed for his own.

He waited until Donnelly clambered into the passenger seat before he cleared his throat and stared into the rear-view mirror.

“You want to come out now or when we’re on our way?” He said loudly.

Donnelly spun around and stared at the back seat.

“Drive.” The gravelly tone drifted up from the floor of the back seat.

“What the?” asked Donnelly spluttering as John started the engine and started driving.

“Agent Donnelly,” John said dryly, “meet Supervisory Special Agent Fornell.” He pulled onto the street from the parking garage and Fornell popped up from the floor to sit properly on the seat.

“I repeat,” Donnelly said, “what the hell is going on?”

Tobias Fornell glared at Donnelly. “What do you think is going on?”

“I think another FBI agent broke into my colleague’s vehicle for no discernible reason.” Donnelly shot back.

“Oh, he has reason.” John said. “Fornell and Gibbs share an ex.”

“Did DiNozzo tell you that?” demanded Fornell, pronouncing DiNozzo’s name in the Italian fashion.

“The Director.” John pushed back.

“Right.” Fornell sighed. “Look, it’s not that I want to get involved here because I don’t.”

Donnelly gave a snort of derision.

Fornell shot him another glare. “But as someone who has had to liaise with NCIS before I thought it might help to brief you on what you’re about to experience.”

“And doing your friend Gibbs a favour has nothing to do with it.” John finished sceptically.

“You have a personal connection of your own with this case,” Fornell said tersely, “maybe people in glass apartments shouldn’t throw stones.”

Donnelly just gave Fornell an unimpressed look since John had already confessed that he and Tony were friends to his team during the briefing.

“OK,” John said, “go ahead.”

“Just like that?” asked Fornell sarcastically. “What? No more foreplay?”

John stopped at a red light and turned around to look at Fornell steadily which made the other agent squirm.

“Fine.” Fornell said. “Gibbs is a good agent. Whatever went down you have to know he’s already going to be pissed as hell at his agents getting hurt and like a mother bear because DiNozzo’s gone missing. He hates getting surprised by the bad guys.”

“You think it was just bad luck?” John questioned as he pulled away again and took a left.

“With Gibbs’s team?” Fornell nodded. “As much as it pains me to say it; yes.”

“Why?” asked Donnelly, stepping in. “What makes his team so special?”

“I could quote their closure rate but frankly, I’m sure it’s written down for you in those files you’re holding.” Fornell parried. “Gibbs is just that good. So is his team. DiNozzo is a class act as an investigator and undercover, David is lethal, and McGee is a computer genius. They might play fast and loose with the rules at times but they never lose sight that they are there to get justice for the victims. Whatever went down today wasn’t because they weren’t doing their jobs.”

John exchanged a quick look with Donnelly. They both knew without saying a word that neither of them would mention McGee and Ziva’s unexplained lack of response to Fornell.

“Give us your take on them.” John said.

“DiNozzo hasn’t told you all about them?” Fornell sniped.

“Sure, but Donnelly wasn’t there when we were watching football.” John replied easily.

Donnelly flipped open the first file. “Gibbs is a former Marine?”

“Yes.” Fornell confirmed, almost as though he couldn’t help himself.

“And you married his ex?” probed Donnelly. “Which one? It says he’s been married four times.”

“I married his ex-wife, Diane.” Fornell said crisply. “Gibbs…Gibbs lost his first wife, Shannon, and their daughter. It’s not a subject you want to bring up with him.”

John pursed his lips, hearing the thread of real concern that underpinned Fornell’s words. Tony had alluded to the tragedy in Gibbs’s past but not in any detail.

“Gibbs has been with NCIS for years. They’ll carry him out in a box.” Fornell said. “He’s married to his job these days.”

That sounded like the Gibbs Tony had talked about.

“What about DiNozzo?” Donnelly opened up the next file. “Former cop?”

“Gibbs recruited him out of Baltimore.” Fornell said. “DiNozzo is a pain in the ass but he’s an exceptionally good investigator. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“You’ve tried to arrest him for murder.” John commented, frowning a little at Fornell’s pronunciation of Tony’s name which was beginning to wear on him.

“Not because I thought he did it.” Fornell quickly asserted. “Evidence led us both times in his direction.” He snorted. “DiNozzo’s a white hat as far as the job’s concerned.” He paused. “This group who’ve taken him they’re likely to underestimate him; most people do.”

John offered. “What about McGee?”

“Smart, a little naïve despite the years he’s been doing this.” Fornell shrugged. “DiNozzo pretty much raised him from a greenhorn. I heard McGee was injured. You know how he is?”

“Surgery.” John replied succinctly.

“But he’s got some computer skills?” checked Donnelly. “It says he headed up their cyber crimes team for a while?”

“As part of a mole hunt.” Fornell confirmed. “That was kept in-house and Gibbs doesn’t talk about it.”

Tony had mentioned it once but he’d glossed over the details, John mused.

“And David?” Donnelly held up the final file. “She was Mossad?”

“If she was Mossad, she is Mossad.” John quipped. He’d run across a few Mossad agents out in the Middle East. Their skill set was impressive but he’d never liked the games they’d played.

“She’s also the daughter of Eli David, the current Director.” Donnelly said.

John sighed. Political shit-storm didn’t even cover it; they were dealing with a foreign nation and if Tony’s story had been accurate one which wasn’t averse to throwing their weight around on U.S. soil. He pulled up at a stop sign and glanced over his shoulder at Fornell. “You’re pretty quiet on David.”

“Maybe I’ve got nothing to say.” Fornell replied quietly.

John frowned. What was the saying? If you didn’t have anything nice to say…say nothing at all. He took a right and then pulled up abruptly screeching to a halt. He turned around. “Talk.”

Fornell grimaced and pulled his coat tighter around him. “We’ve had some trouble with David in the past.”

“She was cleared of the murder we went after her for according to this.” Donnelly noted.

John’s eyebrows rose. “Is there a member of that team you haven’t accused of murder?”

Fornell glared at him. “Look, what bothers me is that in the past David has given classified intel to Mossad. She also harboured and had a relationship with a Mossad agent who killed an American agent in an operation here in the States. That same Mossad agent almost killed DiNozzo. If it had been up to me she wouldn’t have been allowed back in the country.”

“So why was she?” asked Donnelly, his dark eyes flashing with repressed anger.

John was having to take a deep breath to suppress his own anger. He had a feeling Tony had only told him half the story.

“She was on a Mossad op and got captured by a terrorist in Africa; Gibbs and his team shut down the camp, shot the terrorist and rescued her.” Fornell said succinctly. “She relinquished ties to Mossad, applied for citizenship and Vance called in favours to get her application to be an actual NCIS agent approved.”

“And the unofficial reason?” demanded John, because that litany spoke to the facts but missed the motivations.

Fornell sighed but caved. “She has Daddy issues up the wazoo, and Gibbs, well…”

“He has daughter issues.” John supplied.

“He has a soft spot for both the females on his team.” Fornell allowed. He shifted position again giving away his unease. “Look, I don’t trust her, but do I honestly think she’d collude with a bunch of American home-grown terrorists with an isolationist policy?” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he shook his head.

John nodded slowly. He couldn’t see Mossad sanctioning that either. But the entire scenario nagged at him. “You said she harboured a Mossad agent who Tony killed. Do you think she still has unresolved issues with that?”

“Yeah, what exactly happened with that?” Donnelly asked.

Fornell heaved a sigh. “DiNozzo had evidence that linked a computer found with a known terrorist to Ziva’s apartment. He went over to talk to her; found Rivkin, the Mossad agent, there. They fought and DiNozzo ended up shooting the guy. Rivkin died.” He gestured. “Officer David as she was at the time, expressed some unhappiness at the outcome. From what I could get out of Gibbs her distrust of DiNozzo’s account of what happened was the reason she remained in Israel and then ended up in Africa. So, do I think she still has issues? Who wouldn’t?”

And there was the motive for simply letting Tony hang in the wind without back-up.

John exchanged another quick look with Donnelly. John turned back to Fornell.

“Anything else we should know?” asked John.

“Gibbs will want to be part of the investigation. You should let him.” Fornell said. “Otherwise he’ll just work around you and against you.”

“Good to know.” John quipped. He turned back to the steering wheel. “Thanks for the information. You want out here or shall we drop you somewhere?”

“I’ll get out here.” Fornell agreed smoothly. He made for the door handle on the kerbside.

“Fornell?” John stopped him as he went to exit.

Fornell turned back with a questioning look.

“Tell Gibbs if he cooperates he gets in.” John said succinctly.

Fornell huffed and climbed out.

John pulled away, glad that the late hour meant a dearth of traffic.

Donnelly cleared his throat. “You think Gibbs is going to cooperate?”

John just gave him an incredulous look.

“Yeah,” Donnelly said, “that’s what I thought.” He held up the files. “You want to still go through these?”

John nodded. “Oh yeah.” He rolled his shoulders trying to ease the tension that had settled deep in his muscles. “Let’s find out what Fornell didn’t tell us.” He paused. “Start with Ziva David.”

o-O-o

The agent who walked them up to the Director’s office was young, tall and broad. Ned Dorneget looked solid. Except for the hair. He had a mop of dark hair, untidy despite the obvious attempt to comb it into submission. John felt a strange kind of empathy.

Dorneget directed them into the small outer office and the Director’s secretary rang through. The sound of shouting was evident through the closed door.

Donnelly raised one eyebrow and John made an agreeing quirk with his own eyebrows. Dorneget stared at the ceiling.

The secretary cleared her throat. “You can go in now, gentleman.”

Dorneget didn’t move.

Donnelly just offered a look which said ‘you’re the senior agent.’

John gave an awkward smile of thanks to the secretary – it wasn’t her fault that they were walking into a full-scale temper tantrum if the volume was anything to go by – and moved forward.

He opened the door and stepped through confidently. Donnelly followed; watching his back. Dorneget closed the door from the other side and they were in.

John quickly got the lay of the land.

Davenport lurked at the side of the desk to the right. Behind the desk a well-dressed African-American guy – black hair trimmed even shorter than Pam’s, a neat well-trimmed moustache on his upper lip – was glaring at the tableau in front of the desk where Pam was faced off against the person yelling.

The angry guy had silver hair cut in an old-fashioned Marine style and he didn’t stop shouting to acknowledge their entry. John had him pegged as Gibbs immediately.

“…and I am telling you we are wasting time…”

“No, you are wasting time, Special Agent Gibbs.” Pam held her ground firmly. Her shoulders were back and her chin was up but there was nothing but calm dignity on her face. She looked past Gibbs to John and gave him a nod. “John, Michael.”

Gibbs spun around and a set of piercing blue eyes swept over John dismissively. “This is your team?”

“The agents who will coordinate with you here.” Pam said firmly.

Gibbs turned back, presumably to yell some more.

“Director Vance, may I introduce Senior Special Agent John Sheppard and Special Agent Michael Donnelly.” Pam said pre-empting Gibbs taking control of the conversation again.

John obediently shook hands with the Director.

“You have an update, Agent Sheppard?” Davenport jumped in.

“Doctor Wong is analysing the recording from Agent DiNozzo’s wire and seeing whether we can use the wire’s transmission to get a read on a location. Agent Gomez is supporting and tracking down all intelligence on Military At Home and anyone NCIS identified as suspect during the course of their investigation.” John began.

He saw some of the tension in Gibbs’s face ease; the leader of the MCRT was genuinely concerned about Tony and John felt himself warm to him because of that.

“Agents Armitage and Tyler have arrived at Bethesda and will begin to interview the survivors of the explosion shortly. I spoke to Agent Armitage before we came in and she reports that Agent McGee’s condition has been upgraded to critical but stable. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet but there are early signs he is coming around.”

Gibbs gave a sharp nod. “And Agent David?”

“She’s sustained a broken arm, bruising and a minor concussion.” John supplied easily. “She’s expected to make a full recovery and be discharged in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Vance said, drawing John’s attention away from the relentless scrutiny of Gibbs’s blue gaze. “We’ve been denied access and information about our people for most of today which has everyone feeling more than a little frustrated.” His words were clearly aimed at Davenport.

“Don’t look at me, Leon,” Davenport said, “this went over my head too.”

“The Secretary of Defence made it clear that our first priority is the safe return of your agent.” Pam said. “My team and I will do everything we can to make that happen.”

“And you will have our full cooperation.” Vance said tersely. His gaze landed on Gibbs. “Right, Gibbs?”

Gibbs looked back at Vance evenly.

Pam was too professional to roll her eyes but John could see the desire to do it written all over her face.

John cleared his throat. “I’d like to make a start straight away with the team members here including Agent Gibbs. The sooner we can get up to speed the sooner we can find Tony,” he winced dramatically, “I mean Agent DiNozzo.”

“You know Agent DiNozzo?” Vance obligingly jumped on John’s deliberate slip.  

“Yes, sir.” John said politely. “He’s a neighbour and a friend. He promised me pizza, beer and football on Saturday so I’m going to do my level best to make sure he’s back to keep that promise.”

It wasn’t even a lie but he could see Gibbs simmer down another gear as he allowed himself to be reassured that it wasn’t just another case for just another FBI team.

“Sounds like DiNozzo.” Vance said (and John caught the faint hint of irritation which edged the words). He turned back to Pam. “You’ll keep me in the loop.”

“Of course, Director.” Pam said crisply. “If you’ll excuse me, I should head back to the Hoover building and follow up with Doctor Wong and Agent Gomez.”

“I’ll give you a lift, Agent Bellows.” Davenport offered quickly. He picked up his discarded coat and nodded at Vance.

John waited until Pam and Davenport were over the threshold of the office door before he spoke again. “I’d like to start with Doctor Mallard. I understand the bodies are still in NCIS custody.”

Vance nodded again and made to sit down. “Gibbs can show you the way.”

John took it as the dismissal it was as did Gibbs since he immediately strode out. John followed him without complaint and Donnelly fell into step beside him.

Gibbs led them to the elevator.

John’s lips twitched.

Donnelly looked grumpy as they all got in.

A half-second later and Gibbs reached out to stop the elevator.

John looked expectantly at Donnelly.

Donnelly huffed and crossed his arms. “Fine; I owe you ten, Sheppard.”

John smiled at him and turned to face a glowering Gibbs. “Tony might have mentioned your habit of using this place like a conference room.”

Gibbs’s eyebrows rose a touch. “He hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

“Why should he?” countered John, unsurprised because it wasn’t like he’d shared his friendship with Tony with his team before that night. “Do you talk to him about your neighbours?”

“DiNozzo talks about everything.” Gibbs shot back.

“Does he?” John leaned against the back of the elevator. “Or do you think he just talks about everything?”

Gibbs almost vibrated with the want to argue. “He’s my agent. You need to leave this to me and my team…”

“What Tony is right now is missing.” John cut into the tirade. He folded his arms. “You want to find Tony? You stop arguing and start talking. Let’s start with the case you got yesterday.”

Gibbs glared at him.

“I want to find him, Gibbs.” John said, softening his tone.

Gibbs stared at him for a long moment before he turned and started the elevator again.

John straightened. Behind Gibbs’s back, Donnelly shot him a look which said he couldn’t quite believe John’s argument had worked. John lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. He wasn’t all that convinced Gibbs’s surrender was a surrender.

There was more yelling audible as soon as the elevator doors opened – a female voice stridently protesting.

Gibbs didn’t flinch but walked out immediately leaving John and Donnelly to follow him.

“…and I don’t see why – GIBBS!”

A woman shot across the lab room and hurled herself at Gibbs.

John took the opportunity to scout the environment. A Marine stood stoically just inside the door. John flashed his credentials at him, jerked his head in a silent order to step out and the Marine nodded.

Donnelly slid into the position the Marine had occupied in front of a brightly lit refrigerator.   Machine after machine lined the wall, competing for space with some vivid artwork. The stainless steel table that took up the centre of the room gleamed brightly under the lights. The computers on a central desk were off; the monitors silent and black. The office at the back of the lab was also dark although the door was open revealing a messy desk and more lab equipment.

There were two other people in the lab; a mature man with glasses sat on a stool, dressed in a red patterned bow tie with old-fashioned braces in a corresponding design holding his pants up; and a young guy in medical scrubs with glasses and a faint air of bewilderment.

John ignored Gibbs and the running litany of questions the woman who was hugging the NCIS agent was determined to get out in one breath. Instead John offered his hand to the man in the bow tie. “Doctor Mallard? Special Agent Sheppard.” He gestured back at Donnelly. “Special Agent Donnelly.”

The abrupt silence was the result John had hoped for and he smiled as Mallard followed convention and shook his hand.

“Yes, I am Doctor Mallard.” Mallard responded, although his eyes flitted to Gibbs as though asking for direction.

John turned his attention to the guy in the scrubs. “You must be Jimmy Palmer?”

“Yes? I mean, I am?” Palmer pushed his glasses up his nose and belatedly also reached out to shake John’s hand.

“Abby Scuito, right?” John finally turned around to tackle the woman who had hugged Gibbs and wasn’t surprised when she responded to his outstretched hand by crossing her arms over her chest, obscuring the print of a black squiggle.

She looked exactly like Tony had described her; pale skin, red lips, bright green eyes, dark hair in pigtails, studded leather collar around a neck that sported a spider tattoo, with black jeans and Doctor Martens teamed with a white t-shirt imprinted with the black squiggle under a white lab coat.

Scuito shot him a dismissive look and focused on Gibbs. “Have you heard anything about Tim and Ziva?! They’re still in the hospital, Gibbs! That’s not good.”

“I think it would set all our minds at rest if we had news.” Mallard said with a hopeful note in his voice. He sent John a faintly apologetic look.

“McGee’s critical but stable.” Gibbs reported before either John or Donnelly could speak. “Ziva will be discharged in the morning.”

John wondered at the different way Gibbs referred to his team members; the males were referred to by surname, Ziva by her given name. Distancing or male bonding, John wondered.

Mallard heaved a sigh of relief. “That is good to know.”

“And now we need your help to find Tony.” John said firmly.

“Of course.” Mallard replied.

“And what would you know about Tony?” Scuito demanded.

“Tony’s my neighbour and he’s a friend.” John noticed the chiding look Mallard aimed at Scuito but Gibbs kept a poker face.

“If that’s true then tell me something about Tony only someone who knows him would know.” Her eyes narrowed on him.

John debated whether to play but he figured it would be quicker to convince her of his sincerity playing than if he didn’t. “He has a fish called Kate; he also has a piano. He likes cold beer and sausage and cheese pizza. Now, we can continue playing games or we can focus on finding Tony.”

Scuito gave an unhappy nod, wringing her hands unconsciously.

John debated for a second over whether to insist on speaking to them all individually – he definitely needed to do that if he was going to dig around why McGee and David hadn’t immediately responded to Tony’s silence but…but finding Tony took priority and getting a lead on that meant it was quicker to speak to them as a team.

He gestured at Gibbs. “Agent Gibbs, if you could take us through the case. From the top.”

Donnelly took out the small notebook and pen he carried to make notes. John leaned back against the stainless steel table and simply lifted an eyebrow at Gibbs when he remained silent.

“Oh, for…” Mallard muttered, exasperation coating each word. “NCIS were notified of the shooting by Virginia State police approximately fifteen minutes after the on-air shooting. Of course, the presence of Commander Daniels resulted in their call to us.”

“Duck…”

“No, Jethro,” Mallard said strongly, “Anthony does not have time for territorial posturing.”

The two men glared at each other.

Surprisingly it was Gibbs who gave way. `

“The Director handed me the assignment because of the late Commander’s connection to the Office of Public Affairs.” Gibbs said tersely.

John nodded in understanding; the case had the potential to need someone with a high security clearance to investigate.

“Who was present at the radio station?” asked Donnelly.

“Doctor Mallard and my team.” Gibbs answered.

“Mister Palmer was on study leave yesterday.” Mallard added. “He was also supposed to be out today but he was kind enough to come in this morning to assist me.”

“Did any of you speak to the press who were onsite at the radio station?” Donnelly followed up in an almost casual tone.

A twinkle of amusement lit up Mallard’s expression and Scuito ducked her head away from Gibbs’s disgruntled grimace, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Ah, well, the previous Director banned Agent Gibbs from speaking with the press after an incident involving the spillage of coffee and some rather colourful phrases.” Mallard cheerfully informed them. “Director Vance has yet to repeal that ban.”

“Lucky you.” John commented to Gibbs. He fervently hated speaking with the press. “Anybody else in your team speak with the press?”

“No.” Gibbs said firmly.

“Any spectators outside of the radio station when you entered or exited?” Donnelly asked.

“Not close enough to get a look at us.” Gibbs replied, and his eyes gleamed with the understanding.

“Tony had a baseball cap and NCIS jacket on; they’d have to have had like amazing eyesight to get a decent look at him.” Scuito agreed, gesturing with her hands.

“Pictures?” asked Donnelly, because they’d run down that possibility anyway.

Scuito looked pissed again. “The bozos who came this afternoon took all the physical evidence.”

“Except for the bodies.” Mallard confirmed.

“OK,” John said, redirecting, “you came back from the radio station and…”

“I performed the autopsies.” Mallard offered helpfully. “My initial findings confirmed my visual analysis at the scene; all three men died due to the gunshot wounds inflicted upon them. Mister Gator died due to a shot which destroyed his heart; the others from internal bleeding due to significant damage caused by the bullets.”

“I used the audio tape of the shooting to identify the weapon as a Remington 7400 model semi-automatic rifle.” Scuito jumped in.

“And analysis of the bullets recovered from the bodies suggested the owner of the bullets had transferred traces of deer urine onto the bullets.” Mallard completed.

“So our shooter’s likely to be a hunter.” John surmised.

“Exactly.” Mallard confirmed. “Although Abigail’s later analysis of tapes provided by Mister Gator’s wife suggested that they don’t belong to a backwater hillbilly militia.”

Gibbs shifted impatiently but stayed silent.

“There was like a box full of correspondence and tapes Gator had kept.” Scuito said.

“The news said you’d focused in on a threat Gator mentioned just before he was shot.” Donnelly noted.

Gibbs made a jerky motion with his head which John took as a nod.

“After hours listening to the tapes,” Scuito asserted, her hands flying up in gestures which underpinned her words, “I found a call to Gator’s cell from an unknown male questioning if Gator was going to join their movement. It had taken place the night before the shooting. Gator called them MAH. I tracked the call to Royal Woods.”

“You said the wife gave you tapes and correspondence.” Donnelly stated. “You go through the correspondence too?”

Scuito shook her head and looked toward Gibbs.

“The rest of the team took the correspondence.” Gibbs conceded with evident reluctance.

“Anything stand out?” asked John.

Gibbs shrugged.

John felt a flicker of irritation as the NCIS agent stayed silent.

“I, uh, think Agent DiNozzo said something about a mailman this morning?” Palmer blurted out as the tension ratcheted in the room.

“False lead.” Gibbs bit out. “His alibi checked out for the time of the murders.”

John didn’t have to look at Donnelly to know they’d track down the mailman anyway.

“So, anything to add about yesterday’s activities?” John threw out the open question to the room and got a series of shaking heads.

“Nope.” Gibbs said out loud.

“Today then.” John said. “You had the tape from the caller and you had the lead on Royal Woods. What next?”

Gibbs’s chin went up. “What do you think happened next?”

It was a challenge and John was sick of playing.

“I know what happened resulted in one of your agents going missing and two in the hospital.” John shot back. “You want to stop the pissing contest so we can clean this up?”

“Rule forty-five.” Gibbs replied.

John blinked at him bemused.

“Oh, oh,” Palmer said excitedly, “I know this one; it’s about the women and the children, right?”

“No, Mister Palmer,” Mallard said quietly, “rule forty-five is ‘clean up your own mess.’”

Gibbs’s head tilted. “Close enough.”

“Hey! This isn’t helping to find Tony.” John said, annoyance beginning to edge into his voice.

Mallard looked suitably recalcitrant. “My apologies, Agent Sheppard, you are quite right.”

“Tony went in to get voice samples pretending to be someone interested in moving into the community.” Scuito avoided Gibbs’s gaze. “There wasn’t any time to build him any kind of real cover but Tony, he’s good. Like really, really good.” Her hands were twisting together nervously again. “So I just wired him up.”

“You wired him?” checked John.

“Yes.” Scuito nodded enthusiastically.

A protective flare gleamed in Gibbs’s eye but John smiled at her encouragingly.

“Could you talk us through the set-up?” He asked.

“Sure,” Scuito said authoritatively, “I mean it was a pretty standard set up. Tony has on this great suit with a breast pocket so we were able to place a listening bug there hidden by his handkerchief. Because it’s really small, it has a limited range, just within a ten kilometre radius but I set it up to record automatically to a receiving audio device which Tim, I mean, Agent McGee would operate.” She bit her lip. “That device was set to record from the wire and download to the main server here every thirty seconds.” She waved her hands. “And I triple-checked to make sure everything was working before they left.”

“Did you analyse the download in real time?” asked Donnelly.

“No,” Scuito shook her head, “there were still like a tonne of Gator’s tapes to get through. The guy recorded everything.”

“She was acting on my order.” Gibbs said strongly.

“You needed to eliminate the possibility that MAH wasn’t the only threat and to see if there were additional calls on the topic.” John supplied understanding why Gibbs had made that call.

Gibbs hardly looked mollified by John’s statement but Scuito’s face brightened momentarily.

“I found an earlier call from the same caller – I matched the voice.” Scuito confirmed. “It was a first follow-up because from what they said they’d previously met Gator in person but there was nothing but a pretty lame attempt to sell the whole protect the Homeland thing.”

John nodded in understanding. “Good to know. Did you…” he broke off as he spotted Dorneget lurking in the doorway. “Agent Dorneget?”

“Um, sorry.” Dorneget said, blushing red. “Agent Gibbs is needed in MTAC.”

Gibbs was clearly torn. His body fairly vibrated with tension.

John motioned toward him. “We can catch up with you later, Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs grimaced but strode out. Dorneget followed in his wake.

John turned back to Scuito. “Sorry about that. You were talking about finding a second call. Did you have an opportunity to begin analysing the download from the wire after you finished with the tapes?”

Scuito’s expression dimmed. “I didn’t.” Her hands started their wringing motion again. “I mean, we heard about the bombing and about Tim and Ziva being injured so I left to go to the hospital.”

“We can understand that.” John reassured her. “Did you get to see Agents McGee or David?”

Scuito shook her head. “I was in the waiting room. Then Gibbs called to tell me he was sending evidence from the scene at Royal Woods and needed me back here.”

“According to chain of evidence, a Doctor Peter Kavanagh reviewed the download?” Donnelly said. “How did he come to be involved?”

Scuito grimaced. “Well, NCIS has three labs. I’m assigned to Major Case. The other two labs are managed by Carl – Carl Higgins.” She took a breath. “I sometimes get work allocated from the other labs if we’re quiet and I can help, and you know vice versa. So when I left for the hospital I asked Carl to send someone to continue listening to Gator’s tapes. There were two left.” She frowned. “He wasn’t supposed to check the download.”

“Do you know Doctor Kavanagh?” asked John, wondering at the internal dynamics of the labs. It sounded to him like Scuito’s set-up was likely to attract some jealousy.

“Not personally.” Scuito said. “I mean, we’ve talked a couple of times when he’s worked here before and stood in. Just, you know, about work stuff; results, formulas.” She shrugged.

“You said Agent Gibbs called you back from the hospital. Was Agent Gibbs not comfortable with Doctor Kavanagh covering for you, Doctor Scuito?” Donnelly asked.

“Oh, Gibbs didn’t even know he was covering for me.” Scuito said. “He was at the scene.”

“Agent David called him immediately after the bomb was detonated.” Mallard offered. “Agent Gibbs left with Agent Walker’s team straight away.”

“You weren’t called to the scene at that point?” John checked.

“No, Ziva provided minimal information and there was no suggestion at that point that a medical examiner would be needed.” Mallard said. “Agent Gibbs contacted me about thirty minutes after he left to tell me there had been one fatality. Mister Palmer and I immediately left.” The light glinted off his glasses. “When we got there, the scene had been secured but the fire marshal was still inspecting the property to allow us entry.”

“Was Agent David still on site?” probed Donnelly.

“No, both she and Agent McGee had already been assessed by EMTs and we were told they were on the way to the hospital along with the other survivors.” Palmer added.

“Ziva had informed Agent Gibbs that the deceased was the father of a young girl she and Agent McGee had rescued and that the address had been Agent DiNozzo’s last known location.” Mallard said sombrely. “Which is obviously when it became apparent to us that Agent DiNozzo was missing.”

“You removed the body and brought it here?” Donnelly asked, pen poised above his notebook.

“Yes.” Mallard said firmly. “Arthur Haskell undoubtedly died from blunt force trauma caused by the explosion although I did not get a chance to do more than a cursory examination before the autopsy was stopped.”

“I didn’t get a chance to look at anything.” Scuito said, crossing her arms again. “When I arrived back there were Marines here taking all the evidence!” She fidgeted for a second and her lips clamped together.

“We called Agent Gibbs.” Mallard confirmed. “He returned forthwith.”

“And that’s when we found out you FBI guys had stolen our case!” Scuito said passionately.

John held up his hand. “The Secretary of Defence determined jurisdiction.” He thought rapidly over the information they’d given him. “Doctor Scuito, you said you wired Tony? Would you be willing to go over to the Hoover building and work with our specialist, Doctor Wong, to find some way of picking up the transmission?”

Scuito brightened as though eager to say yes, but she quickly looked at Mallard.

“I’m certain Jethro will understand.” Mallard assured her.

Scuito nodded. “I’ll get my things.”

John motioned at Donnelly. “Agent Donnelly will take you as soon as you’re ready.”

Scuito hurried away into the inner office.

“Take the car.” John threw his keys at Donnelly. “I’m probably going to be here a while.”

Donnelly nodded, putting away his notepad and pen. He understood without John needing to mention it that Donnelly needed to question Scuito about the relationships within the team. He needed to do the same with Mallard and Palmer but he needed to check something else out first.

“Doctor Mallard,” John said politely, “I’d appreciate it if you could finish the autopsy on Haskell but if you’re tired I can call in another M.E. and…”

“No, no.” Mallard said brightening. “I’d be happy to finish up.”

For the next few minutes, there was a flurry of movement as they all departed the lab – Mallard pausing to quietly hug and reassure Scuito as they made their way out.

John found himself alone. He took out his phone and made a call. “Paul? Where can I find Peter Kavanagh?”

o-O-o

Kavanagh was surprisingly still hard at work at NCIS. John found him in a small lab tucked away near to the evidence garage. Kavanagh was bent over a microscope looking at evidence on some slide.

John took the opportunity to observe him from the open door: Kavanagh was mature, in his late thirties maybe forty, if John had to guess. He had long hair slicked back with gel and caught in a ponytail with an elastic band. He wore glasses which did nothing for him. John was kind of reminded of the animations for the Grinch.

“Are you going to come in or are you just going to lurk there?” Kavanagh said without turning around.

“Sorry.” John entered and got out his credentials to show Kavanagh as he finally looked at him. “Special Agent John Sheppard, FBI.”

Kavanagh quickly slid off his stool, crossed the room and closed the door. He folded his arms tightly over his chest.

“You’re here about the Military At Home case.” Kavanagh said.

“Yes.” John pointed at the closed door. “Is there a reason why we have the door closed?”

“Please.” Kavanagh said snootily. “You know I blew the whistle on this place. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

John accepted the statement with a tilt of his head. “Let’s start from the beginning.” He suggested. “How long have you worked here?”

“Off and on for ten years.” Kavanagh said.

John nodded slowly. “How often have you covered for Doctor Scuito?”

“On a few occasions, usually when she’s had to go to court.” Kavanagh said. “Usually one of the permanent members of staff puts themselves forward in an attempt to impress Agent Gibbs.” He huffed. “As though he’s really going to give anyone else that position.”

“So you were covering today?” John said, taking out his own notebook and pen to give the appearance of professionalism. He rarely took notes. He had a phenomenal memory and it had never let him down. But sometimes the trappings allowed people to relax more and he could see it working on Kavanagh as the scientist’s shoulders dropped.

“Yes.” Kavanagh said defensively. “It was unexpected and all the others were in the middle of ongoing work.”

“What was the scope of your work?” asked John.

“Doctor Scuito was examining tapes made by the victim to determine if there were threatening calls or ones which matched with the one threatening caller she had already identified.” Kavanagh admitted.

“Take me through what happened.” John advised casually, suppressing his own impatience.

“Well,” Kavanagh shifted his weight and gestured outward briefly, “I went through the audio recordings as instructed. There were only three additional calls recorded between the two tapes; no matches to the previously identified caller. I logged the outcomes.” He paused. “Doctor Scuito had referred to Agent DiNozzo obtaining voice samples when she left. I noticed the large audio file on the server directory when I logged my findings. I had no pending work and believed it would be of assistance to proceed with the matching program.”

In other words, he had wanted to impress Gibbs, John determined.

“You got a result.” John prompted.

“Yes, the address related to Arthur Haskell.” Kavanagh said. “I made a note of the match and decided to double check by listening to the recording from the sampling myself. That’s when I discovered what had happened to Agent DiNozzo and the breach in protocol when Agents McGee and David failed to come to his immediate assistance.”

“Walk me through what you heard.” John ordered.

“Right.” Kavanagh adjusted his glasses. “The beginning of the encounter seemed straightforward; Agent DiNozzo approached the man who I assumed was Haskell. DiNozzo gave him a spiel about moving to the neighbourhood and asked about commuting times. Haskell was replying to his questions when he suddenly broke off and asked ‘what are you doing?’ to which DiNozzo expressed confusion. There was a sound of a scuffle and Agent DiNozzo gave a cry of pain.”

John worked hard to keep his expression blank. It disturbed him to hear how Tony had been taken but he had to focus on getting the answers and information they needed to find him.

“And then?” He pressed.

“Haskell asked his associate who he identified as ‘Matt’ what was going on. The associate identified Agent DiNozzo as a NCIS agent. They worked together to get him in the car and then inside Haskell’s garage where Haskell called a third man, referred to as Zach. Haskell tied up DiNozzo while they waited. ‘Matt,’” and there were finger quotations, “asked to see the bomb. Haskell showed it to him. The third man, who I assume was Zach, arrived and they agreed with Matt that they should set the bomb off as soon as possible.” Kavanagh took a breath.

John waited impatiently for Kavanagh to continue.

“Haskell’s daughter walked in. There was a…a fight. Haskell was knocked out and the girl tied up and gagged.” Kavanagh shook his head. “Zach helped Matt set the bomb up using the barbeque. They determined to keep Agent DiNozzo as a hostage and moved him to the trunk of Haskell’s car and I assume drove away in it. That’s all the recording got.”

John took out his phone and called Wong. “Charlie, is there a BOLO out on Haskell’s car?”

“Yes.” Charlie answered. “No hits yet. Donnelly says he’s bringing Scuito in to assist me?”

“She set up the wire.” John replied.

“Fine.” Charlie disconnected.

John put his phone away. “When did you realise Agents McGee and David were not responding as they should have done?”

“Right away.” Kavanagh replied. “Haskell and that Matt guy shouldn’t have even got him into the garage before they responded.”

“Is there any evidence that the audio on their device was not working?” asked John.

“Doctor Scuito had logged her checks on the equipment.” Kavanagh said. “Look, we all might hate how she’s indulged to an unprofessional degree here but she’s an incredible scientist. She wouldn’t screw up like that. The only explanation is that Agents McGee and David heard and did nothing, or didn’t hear because they’d switched off the audible feed on the device.”

“So you called the Secretary of Defence.” John stated. “That’s not normal procedure.”

“No, normal procedure would be to inform the lead agent.” Kavanagh said. “But Gibbs…I knew he would have just covered it up.”

“You say that like it’s routine for Gibbs to cover up.” John commented. “Do you have any evidence?”

Kavanagh fidgeted in the spotlight of John’s attention. “David once killed a suspect in the elevator. It was all ruled accidental.”

“OK,” said John, making a mental note to hunt out the records on that, “so you believed Agent Gibbs in this scenario was going to ignore the lack of response to an agent requiring back-up?”

“She’ll have some story.” Kavanagh said defensively. “Gibbs will believe her. He always does.” He gestured at John. “She spied on us! She gave information to her own people and had DiNozzo dragged off to Israel because he killed her homicidal boyfriend. And he and the Director just let her back like nothing had happened!”

Well, there was Kavanagh’s motives for whistle-blowing, John thought. He scratched his forehead.

“I wasn’t going to let this go, not this time,” Kavanagh continued, obviously deciding he might as well say everything since he had started, “Gibbs has this messianic cult following here where he gets away with whatever he wants and he protects the women in that team like they can do no wrong. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like DiNozzo, I find him banal and juvenile, but he doesn’t deserve to be left hanging which is why I called the Secretary’s office.”

“So you believe that Agent David deliberately left Agent DiNozzo without back-up.” John stated.

“Yes!” Kavanagh said.

“Why would Agent McGee go along with that?” John asked the question which was nagging at him, because from everything Fornell had said, and everything Kavanagh had substantiated, David had motive to hurt Tony. But McGee? There was nothing as far as John could see.

“I don’t know,” Kavanagh admitted, “but DiNozzo hazed him badly when he joined. They had a public argument in the bullpen a few years ago where McGee told DiNozzo he was a crap leader and to stop calling him Probie. Maybe it’s revenge or maybe he’s just sick of him? He’s annoying enough with all the movie trivia and pranks.”

John wrestled down the urge to defend Tony and gave a short nod instead. He flipped the notebook shut. “Thanks for your time, Doctor Kavanagh.”

“They won’t find out it was me, will they?” asked Kavanagh worriedly.

“The identity of the individual who reported the breach to the Secretary’s office will be kept confidential.” John said formally. “They do know you looked at the download but it’s reasonable to assume all you did was match the caller.”

Kavanagh nodded quickly, understanding John had given him a plausible excuse. “Thank you.”

John stepped around him and left the room. He closed the door after him and shook his head. It didn’t feel like he was doing anything to help Tony.

o-O-o

John’s phone rang just as he left Kavanagh. He picked up and dipped into an empty conference room to take the call. “Hey, Pam.”

“Hey, yourself.” Pam said. “I’m in my office with Frankie and Michael, and I’ve got Rebecca and Ruben on conference. Charlie’s keeping Scuito busy. I want to do a debrief on what we have so far.”

“A mess.” Donnelly snorted. “That’s what we got so far.” And John could picture him sitting on the edge of Pam’s desk, arms crossed and a grumpy scowl on his face.

“Bring it in guys.” Pam ordered. “What do we know?”

John listened impatiently as Frankie and Donnelly covered old ground and only chipped in occasionally.

“So, we’ve got independent corroboration that Haskell definitely made the previous calls to Gator; we also have a voice match. Charlie also prioritised the transcript of the events around Agent DiNozzo going missing.” Pam asserted.

John nodded even though they couldn’t see him. “Like I said I heard the gist from the technician who did the initial analysis.”

“I think Matt might be the mailman Agents DiNozzo and McGee investigated the day before; Matt Lane.” Frankie said. “He’s alibied for the murders though according to DiNozzo’s notes – and can I just say that he’s getting the prize for the most comprehensive note-taker ever; he’s awesome.”

John wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Which leaves Haskell and the Zach guy as potential suspects for the murders.” John concluded.

“My theory is that Zach could be Zach Nelson.” Frankie answered. “He and his wife are the Haskell’s neighbours.”

“We need to track Lane and Nelson down ASAP then.” John said.

“Agreed.” Pam said. “Anything else from you, John?”

“Just a heap of motives for David and McGee to leave DiNozzo without back-up.” John said. “I have Doctor Mallard doing the autopsy on Haskell and I’m going to speak to him next about that. What’s the news from the hospital?”

“Oh, we have news.” Ruben commented dryly.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Agent McGee sustained third degree burns over twenty per cent of his body; the concern is his left arm which is in a very bad way. He underwent surgery to deal with the breaks in his left leg. He’s still in recovery under heavy medication and has yet to come round although the medical staff are confident he will recover.”

“Kirsten Haskell is also in the acute care ward.” Ruben jumped in. “Her legs were crushed and required extensive surgery.”

“We did speak with Agent David.” Rebecca said. “She was…uncooperative. She was monosyllabic in her answers to our questions. It wouldn’t surprise me if she found some way to leave the hospital despite the Marine guard.”

“Did she give an account of events?” asked John.

“In part.” Rebecca said. “She confirmed she and McGee were in the field to support DiNozzo and that she and McGee went into the Haskell home to investigate DiNozzo’s situation. She claims they were delayed by a security guard who questioned their presence in the neighbourhood. She and McGee were injured helping the Haskells escape the bomb.”

“Did you speak to any other survivors?” Pam asked.

“There are four other residents here at the hospital.” Rebecca said. “A Trent and Gina Goldman. They were walking their dog and were unfortunate enough to be passing the house when it exploded. They have minor injuries and are being kept overnight. When we asked if they remembered anything unusual, apart from mentioning a prospective buyer approaching them which we think was Agent DiNozzo from the description, Trent said he had wondered why Zach Nelson was driving Arthur Haskell’s car when it passed them.”

That corroborated the likelihood of Zach being Zach Nelson.

“The other two individuals, Alfred Hartley and Brian Jefferson, live opposite the Haskells. They sustained minor injuries and smoke inhalation when they attempted to render assistance at the scene.” Ruben added.

“They also mentioned being approached by a prospective buyer.” Rebecca commented. “Paul has said the other residents have been evacuated to a nearby hotel for the night but when we cross-checked the hotel with the names of the residents we’re missing the Nelsons and a guy called Donald Altman.”

“There’s no history of criminal activity for any of them.” Frankie said. “But if we assume this Military at Home group is a new threat then this could be our core group. The conversation between Nelson, Lane and Haskell in the garage suggested that the primary members of their group were all from or associated with Royal Woods.”

“Maybe some MAH members are at the hotel.” John theorised out loud. “This bombing was all spur of the moment.”

“So some of them probably haven’t been contacted by Nelson or Lane.” Rebecca said.

“They may know the original target for the bomb.” John pointed out. Because there had to have been a different target than the Haskell house.

“Ruben and I will head to the hotel next.” Rebecca said.

“Frankie, we need to know everything about the Haskells, Nelsons, Altman and Lane.” John said. “These are suburbanites, right? Kidnapping DiNozzo was also a spur of the moment thing. They had to have taken him somewhere they know.”

“Right.” Frankie said.

“Go.” Pam said. “Rebecca, you and Ruben watch your six. This group has already proven capable of resorting to violence.”

“Understood.” Rebecca said. “Signing off.”

There was a beep which signalled Rebecca disconnecting from the conference line.

“John, it’s just you and me.” Pam said. “What’s your take on all this?”

“You mean do I think NCIS screwed up?” John asked bluntly. He breathed in deeply. “About identifying MAH as a threat and misjudging the level of that threat, no. Not with the evidence they had.”

“But the jury’s out on whether David and McGee dropped the ball in the field.” Pam deduced.

“Yeah.” He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “Gibbs has a reputation for protecting David. She apparently killed a suspect in the elevator with no fallout; she was allowed to return to NCIS and become an agent despite questionable activity including the possibility of espionage. That was the reason the forensic technician called the Secretary of Defence rather than escalating the information on the recording to Gibbs.”

“Donnelly said she has motive to leave DiNozzo without back-up because he was responsible for killing another Mossad agent. What about McGee?”

John sighed. “So far just rumours that he might have wanted to get back at Tony for hazing or pranks. We need to find the security guard David mentioned and question them all to get to the bottom of it.”

Which in McGee’s case wasn’t going to happen until he was conscious and capable of holding a conversation. It was also not guaranteed McGee would remember anything accurately if he’d sustained serious injuries. John had seen men and women forget entire weeks due to trauma.

John shook his head as though to throw off his negativity and get back on track. “I’m going to speak to Doctor Mallard; maybe he’ll have some insight.”

“Come back here when you’re done.” Pam said. “Hopefully we’ll have a lead on DiNozzo by then.”

“Understood.” John said and disconnected.

He held the phone up to his forehead for a long moment. They had leads; they had avenues to explore, chase down and eliminate.

Hold on, Tony, John thought as strongly as he could as though Tony could hear him through the ether; hold on, we’re coming for you.

John took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked out in search of the M.E.

o-O-o

Mallard was in autopsy.

John grimaced at the sight of the badly burned body splayed open on one of the tables. Mallard had changed into scrubs and a plastic apron with a plastic visor as head-gear. His hands were covered in latex gloves, his shoes in plastic slippers. Palmer had donned the same.

Mallard glanced over as the doors of autopsy swept open to admit John before he turned back to Palmer. “Perhaps, Mister Palmer, you could step out and procure some sustenance for us? Sandwiches and some tea would be preferable.”

Palmer blinked before he caught sight of John and realisation swamped his face. “Of course, Doctor Mallard.”

John waited until Palmer was gone before he moved closer to the body. His nose wrinkled a little at the smell. Dead bodies were grim; burnt dead bodies were a hell all of their own. He debated how to approach Mallard; the questions he had weren’t going to be easy ones to ask or answer.

“You wanted to speak to me?” asked Mallard, prompting John out of his internal musing.

“Yes, sorry,” John waved a hand towards the doors, “and thank you for, uh…”

“Getting rid of Mister Palmer.” Mallard offered a small smile as he dumped the heart onto a scale and made a note of the weight.

John nodded. He leaned back against a clean stainless steel table. “I need to ask you some uncomfortable questions.”

“I thought that might be the case.” Mallard glanced over at John again and John caught the glimpse of fierce intelligence in the blue eyes that scoured him momentarily. “I assume the appointment of the FBI by Secretary O’Neill wasn’t just a case of jurisdictional juggling.”

“Tony’s cover as a prospective buyer was blown when he was recognised by someone he had previously interviewed.” John informed the M.E. “There was a substantial gap between his being knocked out and the response from Agents McGee and David to the situation.”

“That is…troubling.” Mallard commented, slowing his turn back to the body. “Clearly Timothy isn’t in a position to defend himself. Has Ziva spoken at all?”

“She claims the delay was caused by them being approached by a security guard asking questions.” John said succinctly.

“You don’t believe her.” Mallard stated.

John inclined his head. “Standard protocol would have had one agent remain with the audio device to ensure there was back-up for the agent in play.” He looked over at Mallard. “If both of them responded to the security guard, they knowingly left Tony without back-up, risked his life and the operation as a whole.”

Mallard acknowledged that with a sombre tilt of his head.

“What I do know is that Agent David might have reason to be upset with Tony.” John continued. “He killed her lover and was indirectly responsible for her remaining in Israel after that event. It could be argued she still blames him for the death and for what transpired in its wake.”

Mallard nodded slowly. “I can see why you would have cause to question Ziva’s motives, but I believe that she and Anthony did mend fences once Ziva returned to us.” His gaze narrowed. “May I ask you; what exactly has Anthony told you about his team-mates?”

John quirked an eyebrow upward. “Mostly stories.” He offered a half-smile. “But I always got the sense that Tony considered you guys a…a kind of family. He’s very fond of you all.”

“Well.” Mallard blinked before his blue eyes warmed imperceptibly. “That is very heart-warming to know.” He gestured with the scalpel he held. “And yes, I’ve often thought that Anthony sees us as such. His actual familial circumstances are quite lacking.”

“You mean his Dad’s a dick.” John said. He’d heard about DiNozzo Senior when he’d been in town the year before. Tony had tried to be circumspect but John had come away with a picture of a man who was, well, a dick.

“I would not put it in such terms but yes.” Mallard agreed. He made a note on the clipboard and extracted a lung which he tutted at loudly. “And one can start fitting various members of our team into position like jigsaw pieces; Jethro, obviously as the father figure; Anthony as the oldest son on whom he is hardest as he is the one for whom he has the most expectations. Timothy fits as the younger son; one who attempts to be good and excels academically whereas the other son is more athletic. Abigail is no doubt the indulged daughter; the princess of the family.”

Mallard was almost describing John’s own family, John thought bemused.

“I would probably be a favoured uncle who is there for tea and advice, and Mister Palmer, perhaps a cousin.” Mallard’s expression dimmed for a moment. “Our previous Director, Jennifer Shepard – oh, I’m assuming no relation…”

John shook his head.

“Ah, well, dear Jenny would have been the pseudo-mother in this scenario, or perhaps step-mother might be more accurate.” Mallard sighed. “The current Director, well, perhaps he fits best as the stern uncle who makes you sit at the table, eat your over-stewed vegetables and takes you for very boring educational trips to the back end of beyond.” He paused for breath. “What was I…”

“Team as family.” prompted John, amused despite his impatience for Mallard to finish.

“Yes, well, my point is Ziva, however, has never quite fitted into Anthony’s vision of us.” Mallard bent back over the body. “Because he met her when she was not part of the team and indeed she was openly set against the team’s belief that her half-brother had killed Caitlyn, Anthony viewed her as an outsider; she certainly wasn’t to be trusted.”

John frowned.

“Then, when she was placed onto the team by Jenny and accepted by Jethro, I think he tried very hard to think of her as a…a step-sister; an interloper but someone who it was expected Anthony would protect and come to accept in time.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately Ziva rather put paid to that herself by attempting to manipulate Anthony with highly sexualised behaviour when she joined the team. There is something of a physical attraction which one can reasonably expect between two very beautiful people.”

John shifted position subtly, trying hard not to let the M.E.’s words affect his own want to believe he stood a chance with Tony.

Mallard continued. “But, of course, Anthony would never truly respond to her that way, consciously because it’s against Jethro’s rules and subconsciously because he needed to categorise her as family. Unfortunately, when her manipulation did not work, Ziva responded by challenging his place within the team. There was quite a mean trick she played when she invited the rest of the team to dinner except for Anthony. Effectively she showed him without words that at any moment she could tear down this illusion he has constructed of family. I don’t believe Anthony has ever truly trusted her on a personal level since.”

“But they had to overcome that right? To work together?” John thought out loud. Whether Tony was attracted to her or not, trusted her or not; Tony was fond of her, John would swear to that.

“Yes, I think Anthony settled in the end for considering her as a somewhat exotic second cousin twice removed; still family, still someone to be protected, but with an acceptable level of distance between them.” Mallard commented wryly.

The second lung was extracted with the same tutting as before. John grimaced and dropped his gaze from the sight of it.

“Of course, Ziva stopped trusting Anthony the day he died.” Mallard declared brightly.

John’s eyes snapped back up. “What?”

“Anthony was undercover at Jenny’s behest.” Mallard said. “He romanced the daughter of an arm’s dealer to get to the father, and the whole thing came to a head when his car exploded.” Mallard looked over at John. “For a few hours we all believed the corpse in the car was Anthony.” He pointed at the lung on the scale. “Luckily I was able to rule out the body as Anthony once I saw the lungs.”

John remembered Tony’s story of pneumonic plague and shuddered.

“Ziva realised Anthony had lied to her, lied to all of us for months.” Mallard winced visibly. “In hindsight I don’t believe any of us were truly kind to Anthony in the aftermath when we realised.”

“So Ziva and Tony have a complicated history.” John summarised.

“Indeed.” Mallard confirmed. “And no doubt the events surrounding and subsequent to the death of Ziva’s paramour, Michael Rivkin, did nothing but make that history even more complicated, although I do know she apologised to him, and I suspect he to her.” He gestured at John. “There is much she has not spoken about to anyone regarding her time in Africa but one can look at her actions in the aftermath. She rejected her father, her national identity and her connection to Mossad to place herself more firmly within the team here.”

“She rejected her genetic family for another of her choosing.” John said, following the psychology of the move.

Mallard waved the scalpel at him. “For the family that Anthony has built.” His gaze was filled with the sharp intellect he was wielding as effectively as he had the scalpel. “Like a cuckoo.”

And John got that reference; Ziva was moving in and taking over Anthony’s nest.    

“It’s fascinating to watch.” Mallard continued. “Because of course the main problem with taking over Anthony’s family is what she should do with Anthony himself. She cannot easily assign him a familial role any more than he her. Yet Ziva knows that she cannot simply push Anthony out. She tried with the Rivkin affair and Jethro left her in Israel and chose Anthony. And so,” he gestured again, “knowing Anthony’s importance, Ziva is compelled to consider Anthony as part of her family all the while feeling he is a part that doesn’t quite fit. Just as he sees her the same way.”

“Nothing you’ve said so far is exactly reassuring me that she couldn’t leave Tony hanging.” John pointed out. In fact, the doctor’s analysis had only increased his concern about Ziva.

“Don’t you see? The dichotomy of it is the key.” Mallard said forcefully, frustration giving his words extra passion. “Yes, the history between them ensures they keep each other at arm’s length despite their need to consider the team a family. It creates an unresolved tension which certainly makes any kind of personal relationship between them rather beset with landmines.”

He met John’s eyes.

“But because they need to consider the team a family, they will always act to protect the other. So do I believe Ziva would consciously or deliberately risk Anthony’s life? No. There is some kind of explanation which will explain the delay beyond the mere fact of a security guard, I’m certain of it.” Mallard concluded.

John slowly nodded, accepting Mallard’s opinion and understanding with the explanation Mallard had offered how the medical examiner had drawn that conclusion. It didn’t mean he agreed with him though. There was a lot within what had been said that gave additional weight to the notion Ziva David had motive for endangering Tony.

“Of course, Anthony’s romantic intentions also lie elsewhere.”

John’s eyes flew back to Mallard’s.

Mallard smiled at him kindly. “Let’s just say that since meeting you a conversation I had with Anthony a few days ago is beginning to make much more sense to me.”

John’s mouth went dry and he felt the urge to squirm under the older man’s relentless gaze. “Doctor Mallard, I, uh…”

Mallard turned back to Haskell’s body. “Please, call me Ducky.”

“John.” John offered. He shifted weight and decided to change the subject no matter how much he wanted to question the doctor about his conversation with Tony. “You’ve talked a lot about Agent David. What about McGee?”

Mallard, or rather Ducky blinked at him, bemusement slackening his features momentarily before transforming into something John could only classify as mirth. “Oh, well, you have to remember Timothy is at heart a boy scout.”

In other words, a goody two-shoes.

John hummed. “So, he wouldn’t break protocol in the field?”

“Bend it, yes. But break? Only as a last resort,” Ducky conceded, “and certainly not with the intent to harm Anthony or jeopardise the case.”

“What if it was meant to be a prank, payback for the hazing?” John theorised.

Ducky shook his head, resuming the autopsy. “They tease and prank each other often but never in the field. Of all of Anthony’s familial allusions, his fraternal one with Timothy is perhaps the closest to a real sibling relationship.” He looked over at John. “Do you have any siblings?”

“A younger brother and sister.” John allowed.

“Then, you will be more than intimately aware of the tensions and bonds than exist between an older brother and a younger one.” Ducky said firmly. “So it is with Anthony and Timothy. Timothy looks up to Anthony; wants to be like him in many ways; insecure in part over his own talents and achievements and thus is very defensive about them in response. While Anthony views Timothy as the annoying tag along whom he has to look after but at the same time he’s protective and proud. Anthony quite often places himself between Timothy and Jethro’s temper.”

John gave a short laugh. “I guess that does kind of describe how it goes.” Although he’d never considered that maybe his brother wanted to be like him. “So the gossip that McGee told Tony he was a crap leader and to stop calling him Probie is untrue?”

“Oh, no,” Ducky stopped in extracting what looked like kidneys to glance across at him, “that did happen. Quite a few years ago now, just after Jethro returned from a long absence and resumed his leadership of the team in a manner more befitting a bull than a man. Timothy could hardly take out his frustration at having to resume his place as the most junior member on Jethro; Anthony was the safest person upon whom he could vent.”

John nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he said, “one last thing to clear up? There was mention of Agent David killing someone in the elevator?”

“Ah, well I did the autopsy on that dreadful fellow.” Ducky said. “He had a pre-existing condition. Perhaps Ziva’s striking him caused the end of him, perhaps the stress of being brought in caused his inconvenient demise. There was no way of knowing. Ziva was reprimanded quite severely at the time by Jethro, and later by Jenny, for her impulsive action.”

So nothing that was substantive evidence one way or another. Assuming the reprimands had been private, no doubt it explained why gossip about it had endured.  

“I appreciate you talking with me.” John said.

Ducky’s input hadn’t completely ruled out malice and forethought in leaving Tony without back-up – particularly in the case of Ziva David – but it had suggested it was unlikely, and that there would be some other explanation.

“Just make sure you bring Anthony home.” Mallard said firmly.

John nodded quickly. “That’s the plan.” He gestured at Haskell. “Is there anything here I need to know?”

“Only that given the position of the body and the injuries I am cataloguing, I would surmise Mister Haskell took the brunt of the explosion.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for him, Doc.” John said, pulling out his phone as he turned for the door, “Haskell helped his Military At Home buddies make off with Tony.”

“Did he indeed.” Ducky glowered at the body.

John took a step toward the door and stopped at the sight of Gibbs and Vance approaching. The doors swished open and Gibbs charged up into John’s personal space.

John held his ground. “Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs stabbed a finger at him. “You arrested one of my people?”

John’s eyebrows rose. “Not to my knowledge.” He glanced at Vance and wasn’t entirely surprised to see the Director hanging back, his arms crossed over his chest and looking every bit as disgruntled as Gibbs.

“Don’t lie to me!” Gibbs snarled. “Your agent was seen leaving with her!”

John instantly knew what Gibbs was talking about. He glared at Gibbs. “Doctor Scuito agreed to go over to the Hoover building to help our specialist get a read on Tony’s wire. She’s not under arrest.”

“He’s right.” Ducky said strongly.

Gibbs’s head whipped around and he glowered at the M.E.

“I was with Abigail when he asked and she agreed. Really, Jethro,” Ducky said, “this is not the time to be jumping to conclusions!”

Gibbs whirled around and paced away from John.

Vance cleared his throat. “Agent Sheppard, I believe Agent Bellows promised I would be kept in the loop? I believe assigning my people to work on this case without my knowledge is not being kept in the loop.”

John swallowed down the angry retort he wanted to make. “My apologies, Director.” He speared the other man with a challenging look. “I’m sure you appreciate that time is of the essence in a missing person’s case.”

“Of course.” Vance demurred. “But since we are here, perhaps you can provide an update.”

John repressed the urge to roll his shoulders and fall into a parade rest. Instead he rapidly went through mentally what he could and could not say to the NCIS Director.

“We’ve got a transcript of the recording from Agent DiNozzo’s wire. My team is doing deep background on the men identified to pinpoint potential locations they may have taken Agent DiNozzo and, as mentioned, Doctor Scuito agreed to work with our specialist to try and get a read on the wire.”

Vance and Gibbs exchanged a look.

“We’ve followed up with those able to speak at the hospital including Agent David. They’ve provided witness corroboration to who we believe has Agent DiNozzo. We’re also following up on the other residents of Royal Woods.” John stated evenly. “Doctor Mallard agreed to finish up the autopsy on Arthur Haskell but so far it only proves he was in the vicinity of an exploding bomb.”

Ducky nodded helpfully. “That is essentially correct. The cause of death is…” his voice trailed away as he realised Vance and Gibbs were still glaring at John. “Well, I dare say it doesn’t matter.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expected back at the Hoover building.” John said.

“Of course,” Vance said politely, “I’m sure you won’t mind if Agent Gibbs accompanies you.”

Gibbs smiled at him dangerously.

John shrugged and offered a sardonic smile of his own. “Not at all.” He said and meant it. It was a perfect opportunity to get Gibbs alone for an interview.

o-O-o

Five minutes after leaving the Navy yard, John grabbed the handle over the passenger door and decided that if anything Tony had underplayed his stories about Gibbs’s driving.

As they took another corner on two wheels, John cleared his throat. “You know I used to fly F14s,” he commented brightly, “I don’t mind a bit of speed.”

Gibbs shot him a look and simply pressed down harder on the gas.

John was unwillingly amused.

“What didn’t you tell Vance?” asked Gibbs abruptly, breaking the silence.

“What makes you think I didn’t tell him something?” John retorted.

Gibbs took the next corner without slowing down, cut across two lanes and brought them to a halt with a screech of brakes.

John felt the whip of the seatbelt and figured he’d have a bruise the next day.

Gibbs stared at him, his face carved like granite into harsh lines.

John wasn’t intimidated. He’d met Marines and Special Forces guys just like Gibbs a lot in the military. He lifted a single eyebrow.

Gibbs yanked his head around and stared out at the street ahead with its pools of artificial light making the tarmac shine and shrouding the kerbs in shadows. His hands tensed and un-tensed on the steering wheel.

John sighed audibly and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You’re not stupid, Gibbs.”

Gibbs turned his head to look at him.

“You have to have realised that the Secretary of Defence didn’t just decide to arbitrarily change jurisdiction when there’s an agent’s life at risk.” John waved a hand at the road. “Speaking of which…”

Gibbs was silent for a moment but then he gunned the engine and they set off again. There was something more controlled in Gibbs’s driving which meant John didn’t bother with the handle. He figured that there was something of a truce in place with his admission and gathered himself to interview Gibbs without actually interviewing him.

“Tony respects you a lot.” John offered.

Gibbs snapped a sharp look at him before thankfully turning back to the road. “You said you were neighbours.”

“Friends.” John stressed. “He saved me from having to find a sports bar to watch the football when I moved in.” He lifted one shoulder up and dropped it as though in a careless shrug. “We’ve been friends ever since.”

“That why you caught the case?” asked Gibbs almost casually.

“No,” John shook his head, “we came close to losing it because I know Tony.” He kept his attention forward on the road. “They’d already ruled out Fornell because of his connection to you.”

“Which means someone thinks I screwed up.” Gibbs deduced.

“Did you?” asked John bluntly.

Gibbs sped through a changing light. “Are you hoping for a confession?”

“An opinion, maybe.” John shot back.

“You were the one who pointed out that I have one of my people missing and two in the hospital. Does that sound like a success?” Gibbs snapped.

“Doesn’t mean you screwed up.” John said evenly. “You weren’t even in the field with them, right?”

Gibbs clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching visibly.

“According to Secretary O’Neill you were at NCIS headquarters this morning when this all went down.” John continued. “The way I see it, Tony was chosen to run with getting the samples because, apart from his undercover experience, he likes good clothes and he has an air of affluence. Agent David would have been too exotic and Agent McGee too awkward.”

The car swung around another corner.

“Plus, McGee was needed to operate the audio device in the car.” John said. “He has the better technical skills. David provided additional back-up.” He put a steadying hand on the dashboard. “It all sounds good so far.”

So what went wrong?

The silent question hung in the air between them.

Gibbs suddenly slapped the steering wheel and yanked it hard to the left; the car u-turned in the middle of the road.

“For the record,” John said catching his breath, “I’m pretty sure that’s an illegal move.” His head tilted as he tried to work out where Gibbs was going. He had the most horrific sense of direction on the ground. Put him in the air and he was golden; on the surface though and he had trouble. It had made his SERE training a complete nightmare. “I’m guessing we’re not going to the Hoover building anymore?”

“Nope.” Gibbs agreed.

John’s phone rang shrilly and he answered it quickly. “Sheppard.”

“John,” Pam said, a note of urgency in her tone, “are you on your way?”

“Agent Gibbs is giving me a ride.” John said. “But we’re stopping off at…” he glanced across the car.

“Hospital.” Gibbs said.

“At the hospital.” John repeated. “Any news on the wire?”

“Scuito and Charlie think they have a plan. We could do with you back here; Nancy’s arrived.” Pam said crisply.

Which meant she needed someone to referee Nancy and Charlie.

John’s eyes flickered to Gibbs. “We’ll try to be quick at the hospital. Any other updates?”

“Rebecca and Ruben checked in; they’re OK.” Pam confirmed. “Captain Cadman also arrived, actually let me bring her in.”

There was a sound of movement on the phone and John grimaced as Gibbs took another corner.

“You’re on speaker, John. I have both Nancy and Captain Cadman here.”

“Hey, John.”

“Agent Sheppard.” Captain Cadman greeted him cheerily. “My analysis of the bomb is complete.”

John’s eyes darted to Gibbs and he cleared his throat. “Let me put you both on speaker here too. I think your findings will be of interest to Special Agent Gibbs as well as myself.” He ignored the quick stare Gibbs directed at him. John palmed the phone and tapped it to get the speaker function working.

“Right, sir,” the Captain said, “the bomb has a signature; a Deeter Johanson.”

“Johanson’s a former meth cooker.” Nancy reported. “Homeland have had him on our wanted list for a while. He’s been cooking up specialised explosives and selling them on the black market for the past year. The last bomb we traced to him was used in a potential suicide bomb in Syria.”

“Great.” John commented. “So Military At Home found themselves a bomb maker.”

“Frankie found evidence of email exchanges between Johanson and Haskell.” Pam said. “We think there were four bombs made in total.”

“However, these bombs are usually very stable when they’re kept at low temperatures.” Cadman added. “They need to be at a temperature of four hundred degree Celsius to combust.”

“That explains the barbeque.” Gibbs murmured.

“Exactly, Agent Gibbs.” Pam said.

“So, they used one bomb to blow up Haskell’s house,” John said, “the other three are in the wind.”

“Not exactly.” Cadman said. “Dogs found one other explosive at the property of Donald Altman in his deep freezer. Kinda sad. Guy lived off TV dinners.”

“There were also trace elements of explosives found at the Nelsons and at the home of Gloria and Harold Bridge.” Pam reported. “The Bridges are at the hotel. Rebecca and Ruben are going to bring them in.”

“Understood.” John said. Two bombs missing and no idea of the potential targets. That wasn’t good. “Any leads on Johanson?”

“Frankie’s doing her computer magic to trace his emails back to a location.” Pam said.

“It’s probable he’s running.” Nancy added. “The bombing was all over the news today. He has to think we’ll identify him if only through his association with Haskell.”

“We might get lucky.” Pam said firmly. “Stay in touch, John.”

The phone disconnected.

John put the phone in his pocket. Gibbs didn’t seem inclined to talk and John let him drive. He figured Gibbs had followed the logical line from the notion that if Gibbs had been out of the field and things had gotten screwed up in the field then there were only two scenarios.

Either Tony had screwed up in which case his back-up should have ridden to the rescue immediately.

Or the back-up had screwed up resulting in Tony being missing and the back-up themselves being in hospital.

Hence Gibbs was going to speak to the one person who could tell him why they’d screwed up; Ziva David.

Gibbs turned into the hospital carpark and swung into an open space. John was thankful it was late and the carpark was empty. He followed Gibbs across the lot to the front entrance of the hospital. Gibbs headed for the front desk, showed his credentials and the receptionist held up a hand and made a call.

John wasn’t surprised when a Marine showed up a few minutes later. The young captain looked serious; dark eyes sombre in a dark complexion; the khaki fatigue cap covered his hair; the rest of his fatigues were perfectly turned out; combat boots laced up precisely. He had a holstered weapon on his hip.

“Sir?”

John stepped forward. “Captain Ford?” He showed his own credentials. “Special Agent Sheppard, FBI.” He gestured at Gibbs. “Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. We’re here to talk with Agent David.”

Ford gave a short nod and fell into parade rest. “Sir. Major Davis placed you on the approved list but not Agent Gibbs.”

John held up a hand before Gibbs could snarl at Ford. “This is an FBI case, Captain. He’s with me. I’ll vouch for him.”

Ford inclined his head. “Very well, sir. If you’ll follow me.” He turned and marched out of the reception area towards the elevators.

They exited on the ninth floor.

A Marine guard sat opposite the elevators with a clear line of sight to the main stairwell exit. He rose at Ford’s arrival.

Ford pointed to the left, took them past a nurse’s station and down a short corridor. Three of the rooms had Marine guards stationed outside of them.

He stopped at the second private room on the right. There were blinds down and shuttered to prevent anyone from seeing inside. Ford nodded at the guard on the door.

“This is Agent David’s room.” Ford said.

“Thank you, Captain.” John briskly knocked and opened the door at the brusque instruction to enter. He waved Gibbs inside and followed him, closing the door behind them.

It was an internal room; the bright artificial lights were the only source of illumination. A television monitor stood silent in the corner.

John watched as the woman in the bed wriggled upwards into a sitting position. Even injured with her arm in a sling, a scrape across her brow, and her hair in disarray, Ziva David was a beautiful woman.

Her dark eyes were wide at the sight of the man with John. “Gibbs!” She said. “Please tell me you’ve come to get me out of here.”

John leaned back against the wall and kept silent. He had no doubt that drawing attention to himself would only cause David to clam up.

“You’re here until morning, Ziva.” Gibbs stopped at the side of her bed. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of the black overcoat he wore.

“McGee?” David asked quietly.

“Critical but stable.” Gibbs said without giving her any further information.

“And Tony?” David asked. “He has been found?”

Gibbs looked at her rather than replying. “What happened?”

“I told you at the scene, Gibbs,” David said, wide-eyed as though she couldn’t quite believe he’d asked her again.

“Tell me again.” Gibbs ordered.

For the first time since they’d entered, David’s eyes darted to John. “Who is he?”

“He’s not important.” Gibbs stated, drawing her attention back to himself. “Tell me what happened today from the moment you arrived at Royal Woods.”

John had to admire the way Gibbs commanded her attention.

David wet her lips. “We arrived at the community and made ourselves known to the security guard on the gate. He allowed us through and he said he would make a note of our presence for his replacement who was due to arrive.”

“Did he understand not to reveal your presence to the residents?” asked Gibbs.

A line appeared between her eyebrows as she contemplated Gibbs’s question. “Yes, I believe so.”

“You went in.” Gibbs prompted.

“We stopped outside the park area.” David confirmed. “Tony and McGee did a final check with the bug and audio equipment.”

“All worked OK?” Gibbs checked.

“Yes.” David said without hesitation. “Tony left the vehicle and McGee took his place in the driver’s seat. He set the audio device down in the well between us. We could clearly hear Tony.”

Gibbs nodded. “And then?”

“And then we spent many very boring hours as Tony walked up and down the neighbourhood talking to people!” David’s good hand gestured at Gibbs.

“You said you realised Tony was in trouble and went to investigate.” Gibbs said almost softly.

“Yes.” David looked down at the blanket briefly before her eyes went back to Gibbs.

The pouty distressed expression was well done, John thought cynically.

“We immediately took the car to the last house Tony had identified.” David said. “Tony was not in sight. We entered through the front door and found a man and his daughter tied up in the garage. McGee helped the man; I moved to help the daughter. She informed us that there was a bomb in the barbeque across the garage. McGee was still untying the man; he suggested I got the girl clear and to call the bomb squad. We were almost clear when the bomb detonated. We did not see Tony.”

“Tell me, Ziva,” Gibbs began softly, “exactly at what point did you realise DiNozzo was in trouble?”

David’s gaze sharpened and she frowned before her expression cleared. She gestured at him. “I forgot when I spoke with you at the scene – a security guard delayed us responding immediately to Tony.”

“Uh-huh.” Gibbs said. “And how much time do you think was wasted while you spoke with this security guard?”

David wet her lips again and raised her hand to her forehead to brush against the scrape. “I am not certain, Gibbs. We were not paying close attention to the clock.”

Gibbs smiled crookedly. “Agent Sheppard, how much time passed between my agent running into trouble and his back-up’s response?”

“From the timestamp on the recording to the detonation of the bomb? Approximately two hours.” John said without moving.

“Two hours.” Gibbs repeated. His blue eyes had cooled to flint as he stared down his agent. “You want to try this again, Ziva?” He leant into her personal space. “Only this time how about you try telling the truth!” His words were quiet almost inaudible but they were effective.

David flinched. “I have not lied to you, Gibbs.”

Gibbs’s hand snapped out and slammed hard on the surface of her bedside unit. David jumped and turned her head away.

“What the hell were you and McGee doing for two hours while you were not watching DiNozzo’s six?!” Gibbs snarled.

“It is not what you think, Gibbs, I swear to you…” David hurried out.

“What I think?!” Gibbs lurched back and took a couple of steps away from the bed. He took a deep breath and John could see him visibly reining back his temper. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. What happened?”

David swallowed hard and there were tears glinting in her eyes. “McGee and I were listening and there was nothing for almost two hours. I began to need a restroom.”

“You didn’t think about this before you went to Royal Woods?” Gibbs snapped out.

“We did not think it would take Tony so long to get the samples!” David said defensively. “The driveways were long and the space between the houses bigger! It took him forever to move from house to house!”

The implied criticism of Tony made John want to punch her, his hands curling reflexively into fists. He forced himself to stay motionless.

Gibbs glared at her and made an impatient gesture to continue.

David dropped her gaze. “McGee knew the transmission range of the bug. I suggested we drive to the nearest service station within the range.”

Anger swamped John and he had to look away from her.

“And did you?” asked Gibbs.

David nodded. “I went to the restroom while McGee continued to monitor the device. When I returned, McGee also took the opportunity to visit the restroom.” She brushed a tear away from the corner of her eye. “I was reaching and knocked over the device. It shut off. I immediately picked it up and switched it back on…Tony’s voice came through fine. McGee returned to the vehicle having also bought a few magazines to read and we returned to Royal Woods. We resumed our previous position.”

Gibbs stared at her.

“When did you realise you’d screwed up with the device?” asked John inserting himself for the first time.

David looked over at him almost blankly as though she’d forgotten his presence. “We had been sitting reading for some time when the security guard approached us and informed us a resident had noticed our stationary vehicle. He suggested we move. As we went to drive off, McGee registered the address Tony mentioned. He…he realised that Tony had already visited that house. He looked at the device and understood immediately that it was in playback mode. He managed to find the last address and…and the recording of Tony being discovered.”

Gibbs paced away from her again.

John pushed away from the wall and assumed the position by the bed. “Did you listen beyond Tony’s cover being blown?”

David sighed heavily. “No. We were both too aware that we had lost time. We responded as I described before.”

Gibbs walked out slamming the door behind him.

David looked crushed. “He will not forgive me for this.”

John shook his head in disbelief at her self-centred statement. He drew out his credentials and her eyes widened at the sight of the FBI badge. “I’m going to call a colleague to come over and take your full statement. They’ll be showing it to Gibbs for him to verify that everything you just said is part of the statement. NCIS will also receive a copy to determine what disciplinary action they may want to take.”

David’s eyes widened. “It was an accident!”

“Breaking protocol to go to the bathroom is not an accident. You should have called Agent DiNozzo and he would have stood down.” John said tersely. “Breaking protocol by reading while you’re meant to be actively listening is not an accident. Breaking protocol by not listening to fully understand Agent DiNozzo’s situation before you acted is not an accident.”

“You do not know anything!” David shot back at him.

John shook his head. “You’d better hope Agent DiNozzo comes out of this alive.” He walked out before he could say anything else.

He took a deep breath, standing in the corridor with the impassive Marine guard stood beside him saying nothing. He walked back down to the nurses’ station, found a small empty office, and took out his phone to call Pam.

“Agent David gave Gibbs a full statement of events.” John filled her in, working hard to keep his tone professional.

“God, how did she think any of this was acceptable.” Pam said angrily. “You think it was an accident or do you think it was done with malice?”

“I’m not sure.” John admitted. “She’s definitely manipulative and definitely has cause in their history to hurt Tony, although Doctor Mallard was of the opinion they’d both moved on from past events and I’m betting if I was to ask Gibbs, McGee and Tony they’d back that opinion up.” He sighed. “I get the impression that bending the rules is something they’re used to doing if it gets them results; and from what I’ve found out about McGee, that would fit with his going along with events as they played out.”

“I see what you mean,” Pam said, “taking the bathroom break after they’d been there a while without incident, or reading and only paying attention to the fact DiNozzo was still talking, given they were still essentially listening to him? It’s risky but not negligent. They could even argue that going to the last address without listening beyond DiNozzo getting knocked out was done out of a need not to waste additional time to provide back-up.”

“Yeah, they could probably get away with that argument.” John agreed. The latter had resulted in Gibbs’s and the first responders wasting time at the scene searching for Tony but ultimately not going straight away would have undoubtedly led to the deaths of both Haskells, and not just the father.

“Which means you think the sticky part of this whole thing is whether David deliberately screwed with the device.” Pam surmised.

“Which is going to be hard to prove.” John said.

“I’ll send Michael to take Agent David’s statement.” Pam said. “I’d like you back at base. I think Doctor Scuito and Charlie are close to getting somewhere with the wire.”

“I’ll round up Gibbs.” John said immediately and signed off. He rubbed his hands vigorously over his face.

He really didn’t know if Ziva David had set Tony up. If nothing had happened, she might have been able to play the whole thing off as accidental, but no harm no foul. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. They’d substantiated that a screw-up had occurred. It would be up to others to determine whether there was enough evidence to charge David and McGee for criminal negligence.

He had a friend to find and bring home.

Continued in Live Wire: Part 2