Elephant's Memory
by channel D
written for: the NFA Under McCover challenge. The object of the challenge was to send Tim undercover; something he's done little of on the show.
rating: K plus
genre: drama, suspense
featuring: Tim! and the others…
author's note: I received a fair amount of outrage for the events in this story, and the characters' reactions, when I posted this on the NFA. Just so you know, if you too are outraged, you're not alone. But I stand by what I have wrtten, because I do feel it is plausible, given how I see the characters.
xoxoxoxoxo
disclaimer: I own still nothing of NCIS, even as they start filming season 8 today.
xoxoxoxoxo
Chapter 1
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"Good luck, Probie."
Tim gulped. "Thanks." Gear in hand, he marched towards the elevator…and his first time at truly being someone else. Butterflies in his stomach launched themselves into the air.
"McGee." Gibbs' call stopped him, and just short of the elevator, he turned back to face his boss.
Gibbs searched his face for a long minute. Tim didn't meet his eyes, but trembled a little when Gibbs' hand raised his chin. "You ready for this, McGee?"
"Of course, boss," Tim said, falsely.
"You're not scared."
Tim didn't answer, but was sure that, despite his efforts, his face showed it.
"Tim, I can't have you going undercover if you're scared. Not only are you likely to flub the assignment, but you could get hurt."
"I—I'm sorry, boss. I'll try hard—"
"Don't worry about it. DiNozzo, take the gear. You'll have to be our undercover Ensign."
Tim swallowed hard, and shamefaced, handed Tony the gear. In truth, he was scared. Scared that he would be found out immediately, with no back-up close enough to save him from armed suspects. Scared he would lose his nerve.
Scared he would be killed.
It was one of the most humiliating moments in his short two years with NCIS. Tony left, and did the assignment well. Gibbs didn't say anything more to Tim about it, but neither did he ask him to go undercover again.
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"You're sure you're ready for this?" Tony asked Tim soberly.
What a time to have an elephant's memory. "Yeah, I'm sure." This time Tim met Tony's eyes, and didn't shake at all. Perhaps it was because this mission was more important than the last one, five years ago, had been.
" 'Cause I could go in your place…"
"No, you can't." Tim wasn't too surprised at how confident he sounded and felt. "You can't talk like a geek and pal around with nerds. You can understand wealth, but only from what you experienced as a boy."
"I don't want you having second thoughts…"
"I won't." Tim didn't have to look to feel Ziva's doubting eyes on him. She hadn't even been on the team at the time of his original failure. He'd never told her about it; it wasn't the sort of embarrassing moment that one could just laugh off, and admit: I was too chicken to do my first undercover assignment. Tony must have told her, dang him.
"McGee…I could…"
"No, Ziva. This one's mine." He punched the elevator call button. "We'll be in touch."
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"Hey, buddy."
The shopkeeper looked up as the man entered. He was skinnier than your average fan boy, but then some of them did run toward lean. Most quailed at the thought of any real exercise, if they were honest with themselves. "Afternoon, friend. Something I can show you?"
"Possibly." The man, 30-ish, slowly took in the shop, with all of its comic books, movie and TV posters and paperbacks, and toys. "I've heard you carry vintage '60s and '70s stuff, and earlier. I don't see any of that out here, though." He frowned.
The customer was nicely dressed, the shopkeeper noticed, and felt a little shabby in his plaid flannel shirt and worn jeans. This man definitely had money: the coat was Burberry, if he wasn't mistaken. The shoes were Italian leather. But any collector with that kind of dough could afford to be strung along for a bit. The shopkeeper shrugged. "Kids these days. They only want the latest thing. Vampire stuff, you know? And the new Spider-Man and Superman. I try to turn them onto classics, like Sandman and Heart of Africa, but they only want the cutting edge, not what their parents—or grandparents—read."
"Not interested in comic books," the customer said scornfully. "I want movie memorabilia."
"Like what? Maybe I've got it in the back." Despite his inclination to go slowly, the shopkeeper was becoming interested.
The customer looked aside, thoughtfully. "Are you Barnes? It was suggested that I ask for Barnes."
I'm not going to let Barnes get this commission, thought the shopkeeper. "No, I'm Patrician. The owner. Barnes works for me, but he's off today. I'm sure I can help you, Mister—"
"Mallory. Timothy Mallory. I appreciate the offer, Patrician, but I understand that your man Barnes has the Naval background and the in-depth knowledge of war films…"
"Oh. Well, he does know a bit more about that than I do, but—"
"When will he be back?"
A voice sounded in Tim's ear. Tony's voice. "Don't be too hard-to-get. What if he says Barnes is going to be out for two weeks?"
Patrician looked uncertain. "Tomorrow, maybe. Or day after? I don't know. He's been a little funny lately. But I can, maybe…"
"Well, okay," said Timothy Mallory. "I'll probably know what I want, on sight. And I should let you know that I can spot a fake a mile away."
Patrician smiled thinly. "Fortunately, all of our merchandise is much less than a mile away."
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After the shopkeeper had summoned a junior clerk to mind the store, Patrician led Tim into the back room. There, under dim lights, were shelves of the rare, more expensive merchandise, which were only brought out to the shop on an individual basis.
"So, you're a long-time collector?" Patrician asked, conversationally. "A Navy man?"
Tim nodded. "On leave. But I guess you'd call me a movie buff. A geek. I've bought and sold a lot of stuff online, but I've also been burned there. So when I can, I prefer to deal in person."
"The Navy must pay you pretty well. You're an officer?"
"And a gentleman," Tony cackled in Tim's ear. "Play up your geek side. Gain his confidence."
"Well, I guess I think of myself as a fan first," Tim said, side-stepping the wealth question. "You know how it is. A job is a job, but being a fan—that's with you 24/7." He raised his hand in a Vulcan salute.
Patrician laughed. "My brother always said you weren't a true geek if you didn't grok Star Trek. Do you speak any Klingon?" he added, hopefully.
"A little, but I'm by no means fluent, so don't test me," Tim said, smoothly. He knew his limits, and knew he couldn't afford to be tripped up on a small point. It was time to get to the heart of things. "So, I'm interested in pre-1970 Navy-themed movie stuff."
"Replica boats? Posters? Games?"
"Yeah, all of that, and almost anything else. But I already have a lot of stuff, so I'm not much in the market for duplicates right now. The storage costs alone are painful, and right now, I'm not near my collection, so selling isn't desirable."
"I'll bet you have some prize stuff!"
Tim shrugged, modestly.
"Maybe we can look over your collection sometime. I could give you pointers, and maybe make an offer."
"He's taking the bait. Reel him in," said Tony.
Before Tim could say anything, Patrician was off on a tangent, so Tim wondered if he hadn't just been conversational with the offer. "You like TV Navy stuff? I've got McHale's Navy…
"No, not TV stuff. Just movies. It's a shame that Barnes isn't here. We talked a lot on the phone. He knows the John Wayne war and war-related movies that I like. Operation Pacific, They Were Expendable, The Fighting SeaBees, In Harm's Way…and sentimental favorites like Donovan's Reef. Oh, and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon."
"Yeah, good JW Navy movies, all of them," Patrician nodded.
In his ear, Tim could hear Tony's laughter, and call of "Good one, Probie!" The last movie, of course, had been a John Wayne Western; not a Navy film. Now that they knew that Patrician was weak in this area, Tim would be free to spin a tale if he needed to. Tim walked about the room, looking at the material on the shelves an in the glass-fronted cases, a cultivated slightly disdainful look on his face.
Patrician seemed to hesitate. "Barnes does have Navy and other military stuff in another storage room…but it's his, not the shop's. I don't know that I can sell it without his say-so…"
"Couldn't I just see it? I don't have to make an offer today," said Tim. "I won't be in town past Friday."
"I suppose just a look would be all right," said Patrician. "It's down in the cellar."
"Whoa, Probie! You might be walking into a cell phone dead zone! Don't do it!"
Tim ignored that, deciding he would take his chances. After all, he wasn't going to be buying anything today…just looking for the stolen merchandise. "Lead the way."
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If the lighting in the street-level storage room was bad, the lighting on the stairs down to the cellar was much worse. It was a cold, though not damp, place, and after passing by one landing and a closed door, the stairs went down even further…down to about the depth of a Metro platform, Tim reasoned, and tried to remember where the nearest line ran. At the bottom there was a little more light from bare bulbs in safety nets, though of a ghostly blue tone, like fluorescents imperfectly made. There was a long corridor going left, right, and straight. "This way," said Patrician, turning to the right.
"You own all of this?" Tim said in amazement. "That's impressive, for the SW part of the District!"
"Well, as you can see, I don't spend much on the upkeep," Patrician laughed. Indeed, the corridor was dusty and dingy, and looked like rodents might have been along it. The walls were unadorned. Here and there a closed iron door was seen in a wall. "Here we go…"
Tim had been listening for sage advice, or a warning, or a laugh, from Tony, but…nothing. He probably was in a dead zone now, though Tim didn't have a way to test that.
"This is Barnes' storage room," said Patrician, as he stopped before a door that, like the others, was unmarked. From a large keychain, he turned a key in the lock, opened the door, and switched on the single-bulb light.
No! This was not at all what they had expected.
"What the hell is this?" Tim said, his voice rising. He genuinely felt as frightened as he knew his voice sounded. "Who is this guy? Why is he here?"
In the corner, squinting at the light, sat a man with dried blood on his face and his shirt; even some in his hair. His wrists and ankles were bound. Silently, the man glared at the two of them.
From somewhere, Patrician had acquired a gun. "He came snooping around after Barnes. Now you're snooping after Barnes. And you thought you knew your John Wayne movies. Either you were trying to trick me, or you're not as clever as you thought. Now get down on your knees; hand behind your head."
Tim didn't dare pull his eyes anywhere. He feared the well-deserved reprimand of flubbing his second chance at going undercover. Sorry, boss, he thought silently in Gibbs' direction.
