A.N. I know, I know, another one? I can't help myself. D: BUT! I swear I'm still going to update the other fics too now that I'm back (I was gone for a while...) and have NOT given up on any of them! Anyhow, I suck when it comes to writing case fics but I tried my best, so please don't pick at all the faults ._.; this is AU, but pretty much with the same characters and story line. Enjoy!
I.
Gibbs was less than pleased. From Washington to New York, his team, Duck and Abby included, were suddenly transferred over to a new case, having handed over the one they'd been working on to the next best team on call.
Director Morrow had been curiously discreet about the entire affair. He'd taken them off their current case, told them their belongings had been packed already, and that a car with a driver awaited them downstairs to take them to a new location.
Several hours later, in a large conference room, in a ritzy hotel in downtown New York, Gibbs and his team were none the wiser.
It was only upon seeing Fornell and two of his lackeys arrive, that some of the tension left the ex-marines shoulders. He'd damn well get answers from the seasoned FBI agent, for sure.
Kate and McGee were at his side instantaneously. "Explanation, now." Was Gibbs' blunt demand.
Fornell forced a grin. "It's nice to see you too Agent Gibbs." Seeing that the NCIS agent wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, he withdrew his hand. "I'm not sure about the details either, except that this is supposed to be joint case between the FBI, NCIS, and the CIA."
"That's kind of awesome." Abby, NCIS' resident Goth and lab rat, popped up in the conversation, twirling her pigtails. "I mean, we've never really worked with the FBI before—you guys are always trying to snatch our cases away—" she accused candidly. "And we've certainly never dealt with Central Intel.—I don't think anyone really has, those fella's are super secretive." She awed, Ducky beside her, nodding along in agreement.
"To think this case falls under so many jurisdictions." The elderly doctor thought aloud.
Gibbs frowned, deep in thought now. This was clearly bigger than he'd anticipated it to be. CIA wasn't exactly known for interacting with other agencies, and NCIS admittedly didn't have a great working rep when it came to fraternizing with the FBI.
Swiftly, the doors of the conference room swung open again, and this time a tall, dark woman, with dazzling stilettos and a sharp pencil skirt, strolled in, her every step oozing confidence and "in charge". She looked to be someone who demanded and emanated respect. Behind her, trailed a youth in a dark, too-big hoody, and a pale red scarf. His face was obscured by these things, and his strut was far more subdued than that of his taller and curvier companions'. Finally, a woman of Philippine decent, wearing sweats, her long hair tied into a loose braid, strode in behind the pair.
Once everyone was seated, the African American woman spoke. "I am the CIA Director, Penelope Elsinore, and I want to thank both the FBI and NCIS teams for gathering here today, but let's cut right to the chase, shall we?"
She was no red-head, but Gibbs thought he might like this woman. He wasn't the kind of man who liked to go through formalities, after all—clearly, neither did she.
"There have been four murders so far." Penelope began, as a large, plasma screen lit up behind her, and the lights were turned off by the Philippine woman to her left. A picture appeared, a superficially tanned girl, with dazzling blue eyes, and lightly scattered freckles popped up. "Stacy Finn, age 21, a model for the Victoria Secret catalogue." Another photograph; a young man with a strong jaw and dark eyes and coarse hair stared back at the two agencies. "Gerald Greene, age 19, just recently joined the US Army."
A doe eyed boy with large hazel eyes and golden blonde hair. "Quinn Orson, age 20, student in a liberal arts college." Finally, a photo of a gleeful looking female with long nearly black strands of hair over her broad shoulders appeared on the screen. "Jaycee Ortiz, age 18, a senior in high school."
Then of course came the gruesome photographs of their corpses. "At first, it was hard to find a connection between the four individuals, except that they were all of a similar age range. However, upon looking into the victims, we found that at least one of their guardians is in the special force marines. This is of course where NCIS jurisdiction comes in. The connection between the victims means a serial killer, in which case, the FBI is charged with jurisdiction."
"And why was the CIA involved in the murders of these particular New Yorkers in the first place?" Gibbs inquired, upon looking at the files the Philippine woman had passed around the conference table as soon as her superior had started speaking. The only real connections were the state in which the victims had been murdered, their ages, and their parents' professions. Gibbs was already working several plausible ideas in his head.
"Good question," Director Elsinore praised very briefly, her face serious, "As of six months ago a group that goes by the name of 'The Rebellion', popped up our radar. They were deemed none threatening at the time. They had a site up online about the unfairness of the government, the uselessness of the war, etcetera, and etcetera. Looking into it, Interpol realized a lot of their posts were intersecting with current news on police investigations, looking for missing persons. It was nothing concrete, a gut instinct, if you will, but we followed up on 'The Rebellion'. Posts like: "They will pay with the lives of their offspring" and "This country is in the palm of our hands, we have your youths" became a common theme within the website and they even started gaining more 'followers' and support online, despite the vagueness of their 'work' to rid America of its' hypocrisy—according to this group, that is their plight."
"What do the missing people have to do with the group and the four victims?" Fornell asked, leaning forward on his elbows.
"Each victim was found within months of one another. But in between these months, other youths began disappearing. A lot of them were not reported immediately by their parents due to a majority of them attending college, and all of them have parents in the Corps as well, we discovered. We sent some of our people to speak to the friends and families of the missing people and related the dates of their individual disappearances to a date of a particular post on the site, only to find out that they only post on the specific day that a person was said to have gone missing."
Abby was listening intently to the commanding woman, her curiosity eating at her.
"A few measly posts on the Internet, however, are not adequate enough evidence to convict 'The Rebellion'. Not only this, but we have no real idea who's behind the website. We need the FBI to work a concise and articulate profile of our kidnappers, predict their next move, and try to figure out why it is exactly that they're doing what they're doing—if it is in fact them—because I don't buy any of their 'against the government' bull crap, frankly. You'll be in charge of that, Agent Fornell." Elsinores' mouth was drawn into a thin line, her shoulders tense. "NCIS is here to investigate the parents of our four victims and the missing persons—it obviously has something to do with the Navy and we need you to get to the bottom of it. Agent McGee and forensic lab tech Miss Scutio will be working alongside one of our own in figuring out the identity of the face behind 'The Rebellion', online. Agent Todd and Agent Burk," she addressed Kate and one of the FBI agents next to Fornell. "You two will begin to sift through military based motives—as a profiler, Agent Todd should be of use to you."
"Agent Gibbs, you will be going undercover, alongside my own agent, in order to get 'The Rebellion' to come out of hiding."
"How's that?" Gibbs arched a brow.
Elsinore sighed. "As of two months ago, no more missing persons have been reported, no corpses found—we've come to a dead-end. In New York, that is. It seems the group has moved their operation to Arizona, Phoenix. And they've changed their M.O. They went from kidnapping the sons and daughters of marines, to kidnapping both parent and child."
"What kind of persona would the Boss man play, though, that would get the group to come out of hiding?" Abby questioned, concern evident in her tone, not liking the idea of Gibbs having to go undercover.
"There's a father son retreat in Phoenix, for outdoors type people, in specific. We have strong reason to believe they have an inside man at the Lodge where the retreat is held every month—it's a month long gig—last month on the retreat, an ex-marine and his son went missing on the trail. We'd need Agent Gibbs—who is already an ex-gunnery, to pose as the father in this scenario—my agent will pose as the son, and with hope, you two can draw one of the group members out."
"Says here the retreat is held every month on the 5th, that's a couple of days away, why can't we go in then? Why next month?" Gibbs asked in his 'I demand a reasonable answer' tone.
Elsinore sighed again, long and profound. "Four months ago we sent two agents to play those same roles, but as father and son enrolling in college; the agents were unfamiliar with one another and had trouble making the relationship of parent and child seem effortless and subtle. The whole thing blew up in our faces. Both agents were shot in their motel near the liberal arts college in Manhattan, the word 'FAKES' scrawled on the walls with their blood." She grimaced and swallowed hard the lump in her throat, just thinking about it. "I need you and my agent to build a rapport, make the relationship seem as real as possible—no slips of the tongue, it's 'Dad this' 'sport that'—I do not need a repeat of last time. I will not send an agent unprepared into the field again. You two have one month to create this relationship—if I am not convinced by the end of this month that you two can pull this op off, it will be aborted." The director was still clearly shaken by the deaths of her two agents. "We've already rented an apartment in Arizona, for you two to get settled and start getting into character, Agent Gibbs. You and my agent will be boarding a plane in a couple of hours. The chauffer is waiting downstairs. My agent has instructions once you've both reached your destination." She looked to Gibbs for approval.
Jethro nodded dutifully, and she continued.
"Right then, we'll all be communicating through webcam, so laptops have been provided for each of you. For the remainder of the case, Agents Fornell, Burke, Riesa, Todd, McGee, and of course Mrs. Scutio and Dr. Mallard, will be staying here at the Grand Hotel. My assistant Elizabeth here will lead you all to your rooms; you've all been given the files—study, breathe, and go over them like mad. Now, this meeting is dismissed. Thank you all for your cooperation on this case." With those words, the woman left.
The Philippine woman, Elizabeth, was apparently born in the UK, if her English accent was any indication. "Right then." She smiled pleasantly at the large group of armed strangers in her midst. "Agent Gibbs, if you would follow our agent, and your partner for the rest of this case downstairs, your driver awaits you in the main lobby."
The shrouded figure, the person who hadn't said a word nor moved during the entire presentation, now stepped up, his face still covered by the large scarf around his neck and the hood over his head. "Let's go then." He gestured very faintly for the older man to follow him, and Gibbs did just that, mouthing over his shoulder to his startled team 'Call you when I get there.'
In the limo—Gibbs couldn't for the life of him figure out why it had to be a damn limo—they sat in silence for a moment, while the car started up.
"Agent Gibbs." Jethro introduced himself bluntly, and turned, facing the smaller agent whom he would be working with for what seemed would be the next month or so.
The agent started for a second, and blinked blearily at the ex marine. From this close up, Gibbs noted the guys' startlingly lavender green eyes. The agent pulled down his hood, at least, so Gibbs could see him better; he was just a kid, if the ex marine had anything to say about it. He was very young and handsome even, despite the bags of what had to be days of insomnia underneath his eyes. "Anthony DiNozzo." The youth said, his voice raspy, as if he were trying to adjust to speaking after a long period of not having done so. "I'm usually the bell of the ball, I swear," he smiled very dimly, "but it's been a while since I've seen people…or slept, really, so excuse my social mannerisms for the time being, yeah?" he cleared his throat. "You can call me Tony—or, well, you'll have to, if we're going to pull off this father son thing. Let's start by familiarizing ourselves intimately, 'kay?"
Before Gibbs could ask what the hell that meant, Tony unbuckled his seat belt, laid his legs and torso across the stretched limo seat, and rested his head against the older agents' firm lap. "Wake me when we get there." He yawned, already slipping into a deep slumber.