A/N: This story popped into my head the other day and won't leave me alone, so here we are. I don't own NCIS.
Chp. 1
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Brentwood Apartments
September 8, 2010
0900 hours
The apartment was sparsely furnished, but neat and orderly just the same. Its' single occupant lay snoring on the bed in the one bedroom, when the cellphone on the nightstand next to the bed vibrated. One eye crack open and the man growled in irritation. When the vibrating continued, he grabbed the device and said, "Whoever this is, it better be important."
"Now Sonny is that any way to greet your favorite uncle?" a gravelly voice asked.
The man in the apartment grinned and reached for a pack of Grenadier cigars, removing one from the pack and lighting it before responding. "Don't tell me you're still smoking those cheap cigars? I'd of thought probie taught you better."
"Come Mike, you didn't call me at oh nine hundred hours to give me crap about my smoking habits, did you? Because if you did, I'm gonna hang up this phone and get back to the very nice dream I was having."
Laughter could be heard on the southern end of the phone. "We need to meet." Mike Franks said soberly.
"Ok, where."
"D.C." Franks said.
There was a long pause before the voice in North Carolina said, now with an edge. "I don't do D.C., Mike. You know that."
"I know, Jake, I know. But it can't be helped."
The man named Jake sighed and asked, "When and where." Franks told him and there was a click, and dead air.
Former Army Special Forces Sergeant Jacob 'Jake' Gibbs sighed and through his feet over the bed. He stood and stretched, then dropped to the floor, crank out a hundred pushups and sit ups. Then he grabbed a set of sweat and threw them on along with well worn running shoes. Next he went to one corner of the room and opened his gun safe. There were several options and Jake selected a Glock 36 .45ACP sub compact pistol, placing the weapon in a holster on his left ankle.
Jake shook his head as he locked up his apartment and started his run. The truth was that he didn't need a weapon, but old habits were hard to break. As his feet pounded out the familiar route, Jake reflected on his life.
The son of a marine sniper who was now a federal agent, Jake supposed his path in life he been preordained. His life had been normal…until…
Until the day it wasn't anymore.
At eighteen, Jake had enlisted in the Army as an eighteen X-ray. This military occupational specialty, or MOS gave candidates the right try out to train to become a Green Beret. It was the toughest experience Jake had ever gone through, but he thrived. He served six years as a Green Beret 18 Bravo, or weapons sergeant and during that time he been in combat six times. Then a recruiter from the super secretive Counter Terrorism Unit known as Delta Force had come calling. If Jake thought being a green beret was tough Delta upped the ante considerably. He stayed with Delta for the remainder of his army career, another eight years. He retired at age thirty two. As his retirement date approached, Jake wondered if he was doing the right thing and even considered staying with the army until he was simply too old or he was wounded or killed in action. But then a CIA case officer he'd worked with in the past approached him with a job offer. To form a mercenary unit that would perform deniable operations, with no ties to the U.S. government and be paid in cash for their efforts. Jake needed only to ask where he needed to sign and that had been the genesis of Section eight. As he turned the corner and his apartment came into view, he wondered what the mission Mike had for them and why he insisted they meet in Washington, D.C.