Director Tom Morrow called Probationary Agent G. Callen into his office one sweltering June day. From what he'd heard from other Agents, the only time Director Morrow called a Probie into his office, they were being fired or assigned to work with Special Agent Gibbs. Apparently, working with Gibbs was worse than being fired.
"You wanted to see me, Director?" Callen asked.
"Close the door," Morrow replied.
Callen gulped as he did what he was told. He looked calm, but he was shaking like hell on the inside.
"If this is about my argument with Dr. Mallard…" Callen began, but Morrow cut him off.
"Dr. Mallard has nothing to do with this conversation," he answered. "You're being transferred from Polygraph."
"Where am I being transferred to?"
My team," another Agent answered, walking into Morrow's office.
Callen felt a lump in his throat. He had to work with Gibbs. He felt like asking what he had done to deserve this, but he didn't want to make Gibbs angry. The stories he'd heard would have made anyone cringe.
"You okay?" Gibbs asked Callen. "You look like you just crapped yourself."
"I'm fine," Callen managed to reply.
"Uh-huh. Well, we fly out tomorrow. If you're not at Pax River by 0729, I will kick your ass back to wherever it is you came from."
"Where are we going?" Callen called as Gibbs left. "Director?"
"You're going to Serbia," Morrow replied. "Pack a parka."
Callen nodded, leaving Morrow's office, muttering in Russian. At the sharp smack on the back of his head from Gibbs, Callen's muttering ceased. This was going to be a nightmare.