Only the white base coat of paint stuck to the drywall and the newly installed window panes remained covered in manufacturers tape and plastic cover as what was to become the central hub from NCIS operations world-wide took shape. The physical structure had only been completed in the past couple of weeks and the employees of the civilian agency had not had the time to unpack when I.T. made it their business to get television set up throughout the office before the dust settled. Recently brought out of their banishment to temporarily trailers or auxiliary buildings through the construction period the move-in date for NCIS agents and support staff had been accelerated and lost any triumphant celebration as the offices' unveiling had been marred by catastrophe.
Access to stable telephone lines clear of intermittent static and internet connectivity were luxuries that could not necessarily be made accessible but none the less the agents had been assigned to take up shop in their new headquarters early as intelligence and law enforcement networks alike were abuzz with the latest news, and nothing but. With a television set installed in each section of cubicles, one for about ever four agents or so, each screen was tuned into the same news feed. Agents and analysts all looked on as smoke bellowed from building #131, a housing structure in use by the United States Air Force across the ocean in Khobar, Saudi Arabia. The building was remarkably still standing despite the entire side facing the news cameras, a face that had been ravaged by explosives of unknown origin or composition. Occasionally aerial shots were shown, revealing the massive crater which had formed in front of the building, beneath where truck responsible had been parked before being blow to high heavens.
Sprawled open to a page feature the female G.I. of the month, a copy of Sniper Monthly had been relegated to one side of the desk in use by NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the assembly of three desks to the furthest side of the office floor, just beneath the stairwell leading to the next level above. Still the gunnery sergeant at heart having transferred to the Marine reserves in order to join then-NIS four years prior the agent's hair style betrayed his military past. His stone-cold stare emanated from his collected mindset as he witnessed the carnage's aftermath, experienced in war and combat which he knew far too well on a first-hand basis.
The junior counterpart of what was now a two-man team since the reassignment of a third agent to Hawaii Special Agent Gibbs, or just Gunny, did what he could to get a grasp on the situation transpiring half a world away as he waited to take direction from supervisory agent Mike Franks. Any attempt to reach agents in Norfolk was hindered by the on-going installation of their fancy, high tech new office phones with as many buttons as a PC keyboard but so far, useless. The viable alternative, a Motorola international 8700 model that had been issued to be shared between agents of the Major Case Response Team sat somewhere beneath the magazine provided easy, convenient contact with the outside world but the technological backwards agent avoided it like the plague.
Agent Gibbs, even after using a computer on a daily basis still did not know who or what Windows '95 was. He was a man of the 1980s, like his boss, and was an investigator trained to rely very little on technology of the 90's. Without fear of having to compensate the agency Gibbs openly admitted to dunking the Motorola cellular device like a basketball when things did not go well and was notorious for smacking the phone off his desk to make it go faster or grab a signal when cell towers were being stubborn. To the surprise of many NCIS technicians, and nothing short of a miracle, the Gibbs' art of smacking 'em to make 'em work almost always ended in favour of the agent.
The desks were positioned facing one another, their facing edges forming a triangle so that each agent could communicate effectively, not that communication was the strong suit of Gibbs or his superivosry agent. The addition of a third desk and chair gave Gibbs the impression that another member would be moving in to take up the slack left by the departure of their previous teammate but in the absence of the third thus far file folders and worksheets from Gibbs' pile spilled over from the top of his own stacks and onto the vacant desk. As he performed the menial leg work which would be unheard of from him in the years to come Gibbs realized he was onto something in regards to the Kobar towers bombing and was making progress just as his concentration was broken sharply by two heightened voices leading off the slam of the secured ATAC door.
Glancing skyward towards the railing from the upper level Gibbs listened as the two voices, one of them the unmistakable grovel of Mike Franks took shots at one another before his boss appeared at the top of the staircase. As much as an old west lawman as DC had Special Agent Franks sported a bushy wild west mustache and simple slicked back graying hair that one might have expected to be covered by a cowboy hat as he rode his steed off the navy base.
"Franks!" an authoritative female voice called after him. "We're not done here!"
"Oh, yes. We are," the southern accent of Agent Franks stated definitively, hastening his walk down the two-tiered staircase. "For two month's I've been warning SecNav, warning you, warning the damned director," he maintained, his eyes finding Gibbs' as he avoiding so much as looking in the direction of his pursuer. "The blood of those Air Force people is on your hands."
"We have calls queued with our Middle Eastern desk and OSI and you are the point agent here in Washington, Franks!" 'acting' Assistant Director Whitney Sharp persisted. Her shoulder length highlighted brown hair bobbed along with her stride as she threw herself down to the landing between floors, chasing down the agent mid-descent.
Be it his demeanor in the moment or his dislike for female agents and coworkers in general, most notably those with the smallest authority over him, Mike Franks threw a finger up in the air, between his lips and Sharp's to silence her.
"They're not my problem anymore," Franks informed her, already turning his back on her and continuing downward with a very sarcastic and forced, "Good day, madam acting deputy director."
Recruited four years ago by Franks and having worked for him ever since Gibbs knew how to read his boss. Immediately he knew this was not just another common spat between Mike Franks and a member of the NCIS brass with whom he often butted heads. Gibbs rose from his desk to meet Franks outside the cubicle as he completed his descent. Neither mentor nor probie said a word as they stood face to face, eye to eye, as Gibbs gave the floor to his boss.
While at first Franks said nothing, the two men looked as if they would be locked into the staring contest of the century, he looked Gibbs over from head to toe as if they had just met. With some expression of subdued satisfaction Franks broke the stalemate by unclipping his holstered P226 from his belt and turning it over into Gibbs' right hand. Reaching into his inside left breast pocket Franks repeated the same gesture with his NCIS credentials, laying them atop his holstered weapon.
"Don't screw the pooch, Probie," Mike Franks offered his final words of encouragement to Gibbs, giving a last shot of scorn in the direction Sharp before walking towards the distant elevator, away from his team and away from NCIS.
Gibbs was at a loss for commentary in the moment as he watched his mentor, a fellow marine-turned naval investigator, clear the corner at the opposite end of the office. "Semper fi, Boss," he offered as Franks eluded earshot, taking in the significant change both their careers had taken in the past ninety seconds.
"Looks like you're up to bat, Gunny," Sharp intruded on Gibbs' analysis of the moment, standing at the railing on the landing just above his head. Whether it was out of necessity now that they were down an agent or due to a confidence in the agent that she wasn't conscious of Sharp used a finger to beckon Gibbs to follow her.
"With me," Sharp ordered, turning on her heel and already on her way back up the stairs from which she came.
